


Infatuation

by parapraxis



Category: MASH (1970)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 06:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 261,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parapraxis/pseuds/parapraxis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hawkeye finds himself inexplicably attracted to the camp's Chaplain, he can't help but wonder at his feelings for the priest and quickly finds himself infatuated with the other man.  </p>
<p>Based on the characters from the movie.Each chapter is written from alternating P.O.V.'s between Hawkeye and Mulcahy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I don't know when I started to actively notice him. Dago has always been there, hovering just on the edge of acknowledgment to everyone in the camp; minding his own business; always thrilled whenever someone remembered to say hello to him. I know I always saw him, even spoke to him, but there's a difference between seeing someone and noticing them.

For instance, I never noticed what Dago wore each day. I assume that, like the rest of us, he always wore his army-issue uniform, but did he always wear the black shirt underneath? Were there always silver crosses on his lapels? Did he ever take off the cross that hung just a bit lower than his dog tags? I couldn't remember ever noticing, or even caring, and couldn't for the life me understand why I might care or notice such things now, but life is funny that way. Once you start to notice someone…it's hard to stop.

Each morning at breakfast, Dago would be in his usual seat by the time Trapper, Duke, Spearchucker, and I would wander in for our daily slop. His breakfast would be half-eaten and pushed a little ways in front of him as he read passages from his pocket Bible. The four of us would always sit a few feet away, engrossed in our own conversation. Once I began to notice Dago more, I started sitting on the opposite side of the table so that I could discretely watch the camp chaplain.

I don't know why my fascination in the man had been piqued so thoroughly, but he had become so curious a specimen to me. When the rest of us fell apart, Dago was always there to pick up the pieces. I couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever fallen apart…and if so, who had picked up his pieces? Duke was talking about his latest attempt to woo Hotlips O'Houlihan, and I listened with one ear while the rest of me was tuned into Dago.

I wondered what passage he was reading in his Bible. Not being a religious man myself, I didn't much care what it was, but I wondered if he found it applicable to his own life. I noticed the little Bible had a worn, black cover and a small faded purple ribbon for a page marker. I wondered if Dago was near sighted, as he always rested his elbows on the table and held the book less than a foot from his face, but I'd never seen him wear glasses. Was it vanity? He seemed like the least vain man I'd ever known.

I wondered how old Dago was. He didn't look any older than the rest of us, and in the interactions I'd had with him, he seemed much younger, or maybe just more naïve. He had such a child-like innocence about him, it seemed so cruel that it would be shattered in such a place as this.

As if sensing my thoughts, Dago's blue eyes flicked up and caught mine and I quickly looked down at my tray, hoping the brim of my hat would hide my guilt at being caught. After a minute, I chanced another look in his direction. He'd closed his Bible and laid it aside and was resting his chin on a fist, looking out the plastic window of the tent. His black and gold rosary beads were wrapped around his hand, cross dangling next to his wrist. I wondered what he was thinking about.

My fascination with Dago didn't limit itself just to when he was in visual range. Oh no…he seemed to start plaguing my idle thoughts as well. I remember sitting in the Swamp with Duke and Trapper one evening, enjoying a very stiff gin martini when he crossed my mind. I was sure that none of my tent mates shared my new-found interest in the priest, but for some reason, I felt compelled to talk about him in his absence.

"Where do you suppose Dago got his nickname?" I asked, interrupting Duke's explanation of something I hadn't been listening to.

"Dago?" He asked, screwing up his face as if trying to make a connection to the non-sequitor.

"Yeah, Dago Red. Where do you think it comes from?"

"Gee, Hawkeye," Duke said as he scratched his head. "I dunno. Don't suppose he's ever said and I sure never asked. Why?"

"I dunno. I was just curious is all."

"Maybe we should ask him," Trapper offered, his eyes tracking something outside the tent. "Hey, Dago!"

I turned my head to see Dago just as he was startled out of his reverie by Trapper's call as he passed by our tent. He was looking between the three of us, obviously uncertain if he should continue on his way or come towards us. I didn't blame him for his hesitance. He typically didn't seek us out unless he had to. Though I'd never noticed him seek anyone else out either. Did he have any friends here?

"Come here a minute," Trapper beckoned, waving the priest to the swamp.

Dago obeyed and came into the tent, pushing his hands in his pockets nervously. "Hello boys," he said in that shy, uncertain voice of his. The back of my mind registered that he had a very nice voice, and part of me wondered what he sounded like when he wasn't so shy and awkward. I'd never paid any attention.

"Hawkeye wanted to know where 'Dago Red' came from." Thanks for that, Trap. I looked at Dago, trying not to look bewildered by being ratted out by Trapper. Dago's eyes shifted to me.

"Oh," he said, then seemed to hesitate on the explanation. "Well, you see, uh…"

My lips were quavering as I fought to keep from grinning. Why was I finding his discomfort so endearing? His cheeks were flushing ever so slightly and he pushed a hand through his reddish-brown hair as he gave a nervous laugh.

"When I was in seminary I was asked to assist with mass. I was so nervous, and a friend of mine was helping me to get the offering together before the service. He saw how nervous I was and he poured me a glass of the wine and told me to drink it. I did, but it didn't help, so he gave me another drink…then a third. At that time, a lot of churches used Dago Red wine for the offering because it was more cost effective, but it was quite strong. Unfortunately, it wasn't until the third glass that the effects of the first two kicked in. Needless to say, I was practically falling down drunk by the time it was time for services. My friend told everyone I'd taken ill and put me to bed, but from that day on he called me Dago Red."

The three of us were practically in stitches by the time Dago finished regaling us with his tale. Oddly enough, I had no trouble picturing a young Dago Red, bumbling around nervously and managing to get himself completely plastered by accident. His explanation only gave me more questions though.

"So why do you go by Dago here?"

"That same friend followed me to chaplain school," he told me. "Into the army. When the others heard him refer to me as nothing but 'Dago Red' they—like you—wanted to why, and after that they started calling me by the name. I guess by the time I got here, it was just easier to tell people to call me Dago Red than Father Mulcahy."

Duke and Trapper were still in the throes of side splitting laughter, but my own had died away until I was left with just a fond smile on my face. I was still looking up at Dago from my cot and his eyes hadn't left mine, though I could tell he was aware of Trapper and Duke's continued guffaws as his cheeks burned a brilliant shade of red to match his name.

"Was there anything else?" I could also tell he was aching to leave. No matter how humorous his story might be, I got the distinct impression that he thought we were laughing at him personally. My chest ached at the thought.

"No, thanks for enlightening us, Dago." I tried to give him a friendly smile, but he averted his eyes and left our tent in haste.

I picked up a nearby magazine and launched it at Trapper and Duke. "Pipe down you guys. I think we hurt his feelings."

"How?" Trapper said, wiping tears from his eyes. "That's the funniest thing I've heard all day."

"Yeah, but I think he thought we were having a laugh at his expense."

"Oh, come on, Hawk." Trapper said, sobering up. "He's gotta know people are going to ask about the name. And it is a funny story."

"Yeah, but the guy's sensitive enough already without you boobs splitting a seam."

"Gee, when did you become such a buzz kill?"

I ignored the insult, swallowing down the rest of my martini, and pushed off my bunk, muttering something about going to the latrine before I headed off after Dago. He was only about 10 paces ahead of me, heading towards his tent and I gave a short whistle as I jogged to catch up with him.

"Sorry about Trapper and Duke, Dago." I said as I fell into stride beside him.

He looked over at me briefly before looking down at the ground as we continued to walk. "Oh, it's okay. I suppose it is a rather funny story."

"Yeah, but I don't want you to think we were laughing at you." I suddenly felt quite stupid and really had no idea why I was trying to make him feel better. Was he even feeling bad?

"Oh, of course not." He stopped then and turned towards me, making me nearly skid to a halt as his piercing blue eyes seemed to cut through me. "Is there something you want to talk about?"

Now I was lost. "Talk about?"

"I've noticed you watching me for several days." He said softly. My humiliation felt nearly complete. "I just thought maybe there was something you wanted to talk about but were afraid to come to me."

"I…no…well, I…" I was starting to sound just as uncertain of myself as he did! "I just realized that I've never really gotten to know you, you know? I know you're the resident holy man and I'm the resident non-believer, but I don't think there's any reason why we shouldn't be friends, right?"

His smile made me feel very strange. "Of course there isn't. I'd like very much to be your friend. I consider everyone here a friend, regardless of their faith…or lack thereof."

I felt myself smiling goofily at him.

"You don't have to be afraid to speak to me, you know." His voice was a little softer, but more self-assured. We were about the same height, looking into each other's eyes. He laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. "I promise not to cram the word of God down your throat."

I couldn't help but laugh at that. Obviously Dago was used to being unconsciously avoided by the rest of the camp and knew it was because of his collar rather than his character. He smiled brightly at my laugh. We stood there as an awkward silence came over us. I found myself wanting to be in his presence, but realized I had nothing of value to say. He was looking at me with slightly raised eyebrows and I realized the ball was sitting in my court.

"Right, well, I'll keep that in mind." I told him, trying to smile casually. "You don't have to avoid the Swamp like the plague either, you know. You're as welcome there as everyone else."

"Thanks, Hawkeye. "

I could have sworn he'd said my name before, probably a million times, but it felt like I was hearing for the first time and I smiled again.

"Well," he said, obviously trying to end the awkward silence I kept managing to bestow upon him. "I was just headed to bed. Goodnight, Hawkeye."

"Goodnight, Dago."

He smiled and nodded and turned to resume his course before another thought struck me.

"Hey, Dago…what's your real name?"

He turned back with a strange expression, as if no one had ever asked him before. "John. John Patrick Mulcahy."

"John," I smiled. "Goodnight, John."

Dumbstruck by the fact that I'd not only asked, but had called him by his given name, Dago stood there for several moments before I turned and started back for the Swamp. I fought the urge to turn around and look at him the entire way back.

Trapper and Duke were playing cards when I got back, a cigarette hanging between Trapper's lips as they both looked up at me. "Did you forget which direction the latrine was?"

"What?" I asked stupidly as I fell back into my bunk.

"You said you were going to the latrine, but instead you went chasing after Dago." Duke replied.

"What's up with you, Hawk? Why the sudden interest in the chaplain?" Trapper said, inspecting me closely.

"Lay off, you guys, I'm just trying to be nice to him. The guy could use a friend or two."

"You think he honestly wants to hang around a bunch of low-life degenerate nurse-chasers like us?" Trapper asked, eyebrows rising.

"I'm sure we're not his first pick, but do you see anyone else ever giving him the time of a day?"

"It's just…weird having him around, you know? I mean, don't get me wrong, Dago's a nice guy, but I feel like I have to be on my best behavior around him. Like I'm in church or something." Duke said.

I rolled my eyes rather than replied. "I'm just saying it wouldn't hurt to make him feel welcome."

I lay back on my bunk, going back to ignoring my bunk mates as I began to evaluate why, all of a sudden, I had started to care so much about Dago. It was more than simply wanting to be nice. I was stealing looks at him like I would one of the nurses. He seemed to be constantly on my mind. I wondered what he was thinking….It hit me like a ton of shrapnel straight to the gut…I somehow had developed a crush on the priest.

I felt frozen in my bunk at the thought; mortified, disgusted, and oddly aroused all at once. I wanted to be sick. I wasn't a fairy! Not that I had anything against homosexuals, but I wasn't one of them! I liked breasts, I liked girls! I certainly did not like men, especially men who were not just straight, but out of everyone's league all together. What had happened to me? Was I starting to crack up over here? I knew I couldn't say anything to anyone about this, especially not Trapper or Duke…or even Dago. I could imagine the horrified look on his face… I knew I also couldn't exactly go back to pretending Dago didn't exist. Not after I'd just vowed my friendship to him. Oh, fuck…what a mess.

I suddenly remembered something that happened a few weeks ago. Dago had come to me in something very near to a panic. Painless had told him in confession that he thought he was experiencing some kind of latent homosexuality. Dago had been quite upset and had mumbled something about some sins that couldn't be absolved, but I hadn't really paid much attention to it at the time. I knew it was serious, though, and I promised him I'd talk to Painless, and had even convinced Dago to help us stage a suicide, but the whole matter had really shaken him up, and the homosexual advances hadn't even been at him. I couldn't imagine what he might do if I started coming on to him. Hell, I didn't know what I would do if I started coming on to him.

My mind suddenly betrayed me by supplying a rather vivid image of myself and Dago locking lips in a moment of heated passion. I took a ragged breath and shook my head, feigning a sneeze at that odd looks from Trapper and Duke. I rolled on my side, facing away from them, my heart hammering in my chest and my dick so hard it hurt. Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

I didn't sleep that night. Instead I thought about all the nurses I'd like to have a turn with. I thought about my wife and her glorious tits. I thought about Betsy May Anderson from junior high who had developed far faster than the rest of the girls. Many a cold nights in Crabapple Cove I had dreamed of what lay hidden beneath her tight little sweaters. She had been the subject of most of my pre-pubescent fantasies, and even a few post-pubescent ones too. Never, never had I fantasized about a guy. Never had the urge to kiss another man, never gotten aroused by the mere thought of it. It was disturbing, but by dawn I had convinced myself it was just a product of loneliness. I would find myself a nurse and work out my sexual frustrations and that would be that.

But when the four of us stumbled into breakfast as usual, my eyes immediately fell on Dago. He was rubbing his eyes tiredly as if he'd gotten as much sleep as I had. Trapper and Duke both looked at me with sullen expressions, waiting for me to lead the way to our new 'friend'. How many suspicions would be raised if I backed out now? I sighed heavily and carried my tray to where Dago was sitting. I sat directly across from him this time. Trapper sat next to me, leaving Duke and Spearchucker to sit next to Dago.

"Morning, Dago." I managed; my voice steadier than I felt.

He dropped his hand away from his face and gave a quick look to each other us. "Good morning."

"Sleep okay, Red?" Trapper asked as he speared a potato off his tray and shoveled it into his mouth. "You and Hawkeye look like you spent the night together."

My head whipped around at Trapper. "What's that supposed to mean?" I barked, a little too guiltily.

I was aware that all eyes were on me now. "Gee, Hawk, I just meant that it looks like neither of you got any sleep. What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing," I snipped, reaching for the salt in front of Dago and furiously sprinkling some on my powdered eggs.

"Oookay." Trapper drawled, turning his attention back to the others. "Forgive him, Father, sleepless nights make him a little cranky."

"I understand," Dago said softly. I flicked my eyes up and found him looking at me curiously. I shoveled eggs into my mouth before letting my thoughts make their way out of my mouth.

"Why didn't you sleep, Dago?"

"I just have a hard time falling asleep sometimes," he admitted. "I can't seem to shut my mind off."

"Tell me about it," I grumped into my tray.

"Pardon?" He asked gently.

"I know what you mean," I said more clearly, my eyes coming up to meet his again briefly before we heard Radar from the other side of the mess tent holler 'Choppers!'

A collective groan went up and Trapper and I both furiously shoveled down as much food as we could. Dago, Duke and Spearchucker were getting up to leave with everyone else and my eyes caught on the black and gold beaded rosary sitting next to Dago's forgotten tray.

"You forgot your beads…" My voice trailed off as it was lost in the din, knowing Dago hadn't heard me. I sighed and reached across the table, picking up the beads. I was about to put them in my pocket for safe keeping, but knew I'd be taking off my pants and trading them for scrubs in a few moments and didn't want the necklace to get lost, so instead I looped it over my neck and tucked the excess length down the front of my t-shirt.

Trapper was looking at me oddly before he raised two fingers in the air and mockingly drew a cross in front of me. "Go in peace, my child." He teased. I socked him in the arm much harder than was possibly necessary and hurried away from the table.

The OR was a madhouse of meatball surgery. I quickly lost count of patients and time spent standing on my exhausted feet. Trapper and Duke were exchanging off color jokes that I normally would have added my two sense on, but the bleeding kid in front of me was taking all of my focus as I tried to find the shrapnel lodged in one of his major organs. Someone leaned down close the boy's face and a ribbon of purple caught my eye for a second. Dago.

"Dago, I need your help." I said wearily, needing an extra set of hands. He looked up at me, terrified of what task I was about to give him. It was obvious Dago could only just stomach the sight of everything that happened in the OR, but he was good enough to help us out in any capacity we needed him…even when he nearly passed out from it.

"Lucy! Give him some gloves." I hollered to the nurse walking passed my table. I watched Dago hold his shaking hands out to the nurse as she gloved him, then he turned to me. "I'm sorry to do this to you, Dago, but your fingers are smaller than mine and more nimble than most. I need you to put your finger into the hole here and carefully feel around for a piece of shrapnel. Can you do that?"

Dago's face went almost as white as his mask and he swayed on his feet.

"Dago…" I said with warning, hoping that the sound of my voice would keep him from passing out. "I need you on this."

He nodded weakly and I passed off the instrument in my hand to the nurse at my left as I reached for Dago's hand, guiding him to the entry wound. To his credit, his hands were far steadier than the rest of him and he only grimaced momentarily as I plunged his finger in carefully. I kept my eyes on his face, making sure he wasn't about to pass out as he gingerly felt around.

"That's it…you're doing great…" I coached, suddenly uncomfortably aware that I still had his rosary around my neck like some sort of sick love token I'd stolen.

"I…I think I feel it." Dago's voice broke me from my thoughts and I watched him carefully retract his finger, sliding it carefully along the sides of the organ until it emerged, covered in deep red blood. A bloody piece of silver glinted under the operating light on the tip of his finger. We all stared at it strangely for a minute before the nurse next to Dago picked it off his finger and tossed it into the pan on the instrument tray, snapping us back into the present.

"Quickly, feel around for anything else Dago." I instructed, knowing I needed to get this boy stitched up fast before he lost more blood. Dago did as I told him, concentration on the effort and feeling all around the wound before he looked up at me and shook his head. "Good…thank you, Dago. You may just have saved this boy's life."

He retrieved his finger from the wound as I resumed my work, backpedaling slightly away from the table as that look of nausea washed over him again. I vaguely heard him excuse himself before he rushed out of the room. Poor guy…

"That's the last of them, folks," Henry Blake's voice gave the joyous news and several of us gave tired cheers before we closed up our last patient and peeled the soiled gloves off our hands. I retreated to the washroom, eager to get out of my gown and wash my hands. Dago was sitting on the bench, doubled over with his head in his hands. I felt immensely guilty.

"You okay?" I asked, tapping the toe of his boot with mine since the rest of me was covered in someone else's blood.

"I just don't feel too well," he admitted quietly.

"You can add 'meatball surgeon' to your resume," I joked, trying to help lighten the mood.

He looked up at me with a pale face, obviously not amused. "Hawkeye…"

"I'm sorry," I told him gently, taking off my gown, hat and mask and throwing them in the dirty laundry bin. "You really did an exceptional job in there, though. I really couldn't have saved that kid without your help."

He looked skeptical but simply put his head back in his hands. I began to wash up just as the others started trickling in behind me.

"I'm bushed," Duke said as he slid down next to Dago and practically fell over onto the priest, resting his head on Dago's shoulder. Dago raised his head to look at Duke, who seemed to realize who he'd chosen to lean against. "Oh, sorry, Dago."

"It's okay."

I couldn't help but watch the exchange, part of me wishing it had been my head on his shoulder, but I stuffed those thoughts aside quickly. Dago stood, somewhat unsteady on his feet and mumbled another excuse as he left.

"Boy, he's really shaken up," Duke voiced, intensifying my guilt. I finished washing up, changed back into my olive drab fatigues, and made my own excuse to leave. I somehow instinctively knew that Dago had gone to his tent, and I crossed the short distance from the OR to his tent, knocking softly on the door.

"Come in," came the barely audible reply.

I opened the door of his tent and saw Dago lying on his back on his cot, one arm thrown across his eyes as if to shield out all visual stimuli and light. He didn't even bother looking to see who I was before he spoke.

"I'm alright, Hawkeye."

"How did you know it was me?" I asked before I thought better of it.

This time he did look at me, lifting his arm off his eyes just long enough to give me a very sardonic look. "Who else would it have been?"

"Someone needing confession?" I offered.

He gave an almost cynical laugh as he dropped his arm back across his eyes. "After a session like that? Not likely."

I'll admit that I don't know Dago very well, but this mordant mind-set seemed very uncharacteristic for the normally timid priest and I wasn't sure if my presence was helping or hindering at that point. I cautiously took a step forward and turned a chair around, sitting on it backwards and resting my arms on the top as I watched him.

"What's the matter, Dago?"

"I just don't feel well, Hawkeye," he said softly. I watched him swallow. "You doctors…it's incredible what you do, but sometimes I think you forget that the rest of us have never done this kind of thing before. Every time I have to stick my hand inside a guy…"

He didn't finish the thought, but he didn't have to. He'd done what was asked of him in the OR, which is more than I should have asked of him. He was shaken but bad and it was my fault. "I'm sorry," I told him softly. It seemed inadequate, but what else could I say?

He sighed softly, dropping his hand away from his eyes and resting it on the cross around his neck as he stared up at the canvas covering of his tent.

"Oh!" I said, remembering I still had his rosary as I watched him absentmindedly fingering his cross. He turned his head to look at me curiously as I went for the beads still hanging around my neck. He looked thoroughly surprised that I not only had his beads, but was wearing them. "You left these at breakfast."

"Thank you," he sat up and held his hand out and I let the beads pool into his palm, bringing my hand down on top of his and clasping my fingers, holding tightly. His eyes darted up from our conjoined hands to my eyes. I wanted to do so much more than touch his hand. I wanted to live out that fantasy of kissing him. As disturbed as I was by my new found infatuation with him, it didn't stop me from wanting him so unreservedly. I knew I needed to find a way out of this strange, intimate moment I created. He hadn't pulled away, but I could tell he was growing uncomfortable in my grasp.

"Thank for helping me in there, John. I know what you did was hard for you, but just remember who saved that kid's life."

He started to shake his head but stopped as I gave him a solemn look. "I only helped, Hawkeye."

"Yeah, but the part you helped me with was the part that mattered." I finally pulled my hand away, feeling the loss of warmth and he set his beads on his desk. I knew I should leave, but I didn't want to. "You know, Dago…if you ever need someone to talk to…"

"Thanks, Hawkeye."

With nothing more to say, and the urge to kiss him growing stronger, I stood, pushed the chair back under his small desk and turned to leave.

"Hawkeye…" The shy, uncertain tone was back and I turned to look at him. He seemed to be searching for something to say, as if he wasn't ready for me to leave just yet either, but he came up empty handed much the same way I seemed to keep doing. "I hope you're able to get some rest."

"You too, babe." I said softly. I wanted to ask him what had kept him from sleeping the previous night, but was afraid he might ask me the same question and I wouldn't be able to lie to him. I decided to leave, least things get more awkward for us in that moment.

I headed for my bunk, ignoring the urge to shower the sweat and blood off of me in favor for some decent sleep. Dago's parting words stuck with me during the trek back to the Swamp. I wondered what he had wanted to say instead.

The Swamp was empty when I made it back, which was surprising, but not unwelcome. I stripped off everything but my boxers and t-shirt and climbed into my bunk, facing the door so that I could see when Trap, Duke or Spearchucker made their way back, then let my mind wander. I imagined myself back in Dago's tent, just when he'd said my name to stop me from leaving. What would he have done? What would he have said? I couldn't see him make any bold moves, especially where another man was concerned. Maybe he'd lick his lips nervously…his eyes boring into mine with a half-pleading expression.

I took a hold of my hardening cock and began to stroke it as, in my mind, I crossed back to Dago. He stood as I neared him. I grabbed him by the front of his open jacket and hauled him into a fierce kiss. My tongue was in his mouth, his hands…where would he put his hands…my chest? Maybe my shoulders. I wasn't sure. My own hands would be roaming his body, pushing that damn army issue jacket off of him.

I stroked faster as I pulled away from his lips to kiss his neck, feeling the slight scrap of five o'clock shadow on his jaw as it brushed against my cheek.

"Hawkeye," he'd say, his voice slightly deeper in his aroused state. I'd slip my hands inside his shirt, feeling his warm chest and stomach, then drag my hands lower to his belt. Would he stop me? Would he let me go on? I imagined getting my hand inside his pants, feeling his erection pressing against my palm. I'd rub his cock. Would I be the first one who'd ever touched him like this? Could I make him cum in my hand?

I was getting close to my own orgasm as I listened to his soft sighs and moans in my mind. To my own surprise—which was certainly a feat since this was all in my head anyways—his hands worked open the fastenings of my pants and he mirrored what I was doing to him. Those long, deft, slender fingers wrapped around my shaft, stroking me with inexperience, but it felt fucking great. I imagined the hand on my cock was Dago's, and even dared to mutter instruction to him in the empty tent.

"Yeah, that's it babe…just like that. Feels so good…" I was so close now. I bit my lip to keep from vocalizing my enjoyment of this fantasy loud enough to alert the camp. With a few more thrusts, I was cumming into my hand. "Dago…Dago…oh, John…" I muttered his name as I pumped hot cum. When I finished, I lay there panting and sated, an impish grin pulling at my lips. Oh, if only Dago knew what he'd just done to me in my mind. I found a dirty sock on the floor—probably Trapper's—and wiped my hand off before tossing it on the other side of the room, then turned on my back, placed my glasses on the shelf above my head, and passed out in a state of bliss.

When I woke up, it was either just getting dark outside or the sun was just coming up. Judging by the lights around the camp, I was guessing it was dusk. Trapper was asleep in his bunk, as was Duke, but Spearchucker was looking at a dirty magazine. I yawned and stretched, reaching for my glasses.

"What time is it?"

"8:30. They're showing a movie in about 30 minutes if you want to go."

"What movie?" I yawned again.

"The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp."

"Wait? You mean we actually have a real movie tonight and I didn't make a date?" I clicked my tongue in thought. "I wonder if that new nurse…what's her name?... is still available." I wasn't about to start hoping Dago might be my date. Even after the epic orgasm he'd given me in my mind, I wasn't ready to go steady with him or anything…was I? I didn't want to think about that. I got up and found my pants and boots.

"Nurse Becky." Spearchucker supplied with a knowing grin. "She can dress my wounds any day."

I gave Spearchucker a small wave as I grabbed my jacket and headed out of the Swamp in search for said nurse. As fate would have it, however, I very nearly ran straight into Dago who, by the looks of it, was headed to the shower.

"Oh! Pardon me, Hawkeye," Dago exclaimed at our near collision. My eyes couldn't help but take in his robe and combat boots. I wondered if there was anything under that robe. I very nearly reached out towards the knot holding his robe closed, but landed my hand on his wrist instead, fighting for something to say.

"Dago, you're going to miss the film!"

"I don't plan on being that long in the shower," he said with a slight laugh. It made me smile. I couldn't recall ever having heard him laugh. Ever.

"Well, why now? Why not later?"

"It's the best time. Sun's not up, so I'm not going to sweat profusely between now and bedtime, and everyone else will be clamoring for the showers after the movie, so there won't be much hot water left by then."

Suddenly I wanted very much to go with him to the showers. "That's a good point…mind some company?"

"Oh," he looked taken aback. "Well…uh…sure, I guess."

"I'll meet you there," I told him with a smile, heading back to the Swamp and exchanging my pants and jacket for my robe, towel and shower kit.

"She turn you down already?"

"Nah, I'm going to shower. I didn't take one after we were in OR earlier. I shouldn't ask her when I'm disgusting."

"So you'll never be asking her then?"

"Ha. Ha." I deadpanned at Spearchucker, then headed out after Dago. I knew my obsession with the priest was reaching critical, but I simply couldn't stop myself. My need to be near him in any capacity was growing stronger and stronger. It was reaching the point of unhealthy…if I hadn't already blown right passed that.

Dago was already under the spray of the shower as I entered. The showers left little privacy for the occupants, and I couldn't help but let my eyes roam over his nude body as I began to disrobe. His back was to me, which gave me a nice glimpse of his ass. It was a fairly standard ass, as far as asses went, but it was a nice ass. Dago was fairly rangy, much like myself, but he had more lean muscle than I did.

As I stepped under my own nozzle, I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye to see him lathering this face with shaving cream. I stuck my head under the water, wetting my hair, then turned around. He took his razor and very carefully began to scrape it up his neck.

"I usually have a mirror when I do this," he said, surprising me with his initiation of conversation. "For whatever reason, I forgot to bring it."

"Well, here, let me help." I offered, without really thinking about it. I didn't give him a chance to protest as I snagged the razor from his hand. He turned towards me and I fought not to look down at his front. I angled his chin up, starting along his neck, and working my way up, careful not to go against the grain. If I took a little more time than was necessary in the task, he didn't object, though I could feel his eyes watching me the entire time. I wondered what he was thinking. When I finished and rinsed his razor the final time, I watched him rinse the remnants of cream off his face as he observed my work with the backs of his fingers.

"Thanks, Hawkeye."

"If you want to repay the favor, you can." I was really getting into the habit of speaking before thinking. That was going to bite me in the ass, I was sure of it.

"Do you want me to?" He asked, surprised. I heard the unspoken 'do you trust me to?' in his voice, but his use of the word 'want' was playing havoc on my mind. There were so many things I wanted from him, a shave was the least of them.

"Yeah, sure," I managed to play it cool, like this sort of behavior was normal between two men. "Why not?"

Dago looked at me for a long moment, and I could see the internal debate going on within him. Finally, he seemed to reach a decision and picked up his own shaving cream, squirting some into his hand before lathering it between his palms and tentatively smearing it over my cheeks, across my chin and upper lip and then down my throat and neck. His touch felt divine—no pun intended—and I knew that later on I'd have an actual memory to go off of rather than sheer imagination. I tried not to be aroused by what he was doing, but Dago was certainly too focused in his task to notice whether or not I was. I held out my razor to him as he rinsed his hands off and watched as he held it under the spray of water for several moments to warm the blades.

I watched as he licked his lips and pushed his wet hair out of his face as it dripped into his eyes. With his left index finger, he tipped my chin up so that my throat and neck were exposed. I felt him gently rest his right hand against my throat in order to steady his hand as he swiped the razor along my lathered skin in long, slow strokes. He rinsed the blade with each pass and methodically worked his way across my neck. I closed my eyes, ingraining this sultry scene into my mind. Somehow, as dirty as my mind could be, this seemed to be one of the most erotic moments of my life. How queer—figuratively and literally—that it would be with a man. A priest, even! It was confirmed…if Hell existed, I was definitely going there.

Pierce, party of one, we have your table right here.

I felt the razor catch just under my jaw and heard his sharp intake of breath as it nicked me. "Sorry…"

I couldn't help but smile and gently laugh. "I do it all the time."

"I'd be terrible with a scalpel," he observed, his voice a little quieter as he refocused on his task, trying to be more careful than he had been.

"Well, the point of a scalpel is to cut," I teased, trying not to move my mouth as he shaving along my cheek.

"I've never done this on anyone else." He admitted softly. I could almost feel the burden of his office pressing down on him. I wanted to ask what he was thinking…how he felt…but maybe I was reading too much into this.

"You're doing great," I said gently. "Next, we'll have you helping the nurses in post-op."

He didn't say anything, but I saw his lips quirk upwards ever so slightly. He took a small step closer to me and I instinctively held my breath, anticipating what he was about to do. His left hand was holding my chin gently as he looked at my upper lip, trying to assess the best angle to get it. I was aching to touch him somewhere, hold onto him as if trying to steady myself, kiss him, something. I could feel the blood pumping through my body, fueling my desire for this man.

No, no, no…stop thinking about this…. I was getting hard. I felt my cock brush against him in our proximity, but either Dago didn't notice, or was choosing to ignore it. When he finally finished, he rinsed the razor head under my shower spray, not moving away from me as he held the razor up to me, meeting my eyes. I saw him swallow hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. I wasn't quite sure what the signals were as far as two men were concerned, or priests for that matter, but the look in his eyes—the terrified, yet unmistakable look of desire—convinced me that he, too, was feeling some less-than-holy urges.

I took the razor from his hand, setting it aside without breaking eye contact. I could feel the tension building between us as I tried to rally my nerves into making my move. Dago beat me to it. His hands were cupping either side of my face and his lips were on mine before I even had time to process a single thought. My mind whirled with this new sensation, and the surprise that he had—despite my earlier convictions that he never would—made the first move.

God, he was a good kisser. One of my hands slid around the base of his skull, sliding into the short, wet hair as I held him firmly against my mouth. My tongue struck forward, seeking out the warm, wetness of his, and only encountering resistance for a fraction of a second as Dago either remembered or learned how to deepen the kiss. His tongue dueled mine delicately, but fiercely as I pushed him back against the shower wall, mindful that it was wood and not wishing to give him splinters in this backside. The spray of his shower head rained down upon us and I let it act as lubrication as I ran my free hand down between our bodies, taking a hold of his hard cock.

He made a noise of protest then and gripped my shoulders, forcibly moving me back until he had me an arms-length away and I had no choice but to release him. Damn…I'd moved too quickly and broken the spell. He was looking at me with that same terrified look of desire, but there was something else in his eyes. Sadness or pain or maybe both.

"I'm sorry, Hawkeye…I can't…"

I saw tears leak from his eyes, mingling with the water on his face. I knew if I backed off completely, we'd go back to pretending the other didn't exist. I didn't want that, and I was willing to bet he didn't either. I nodded softly, but as soon as his grip on my shoulders loosened, I took a step forward. He eyed me nervously, but didn't stop me, so I stepped forward again, then again until I was right back where we'd started—toe to toe, mere inches between us. I could see him trembling as he struggled to stand still.

Reaching behind him, I found his bottle of shampoo and poured some in my hand, lathering it, then brushed his hair off his forehead and worked the shampoo into hair, massaging his scalp. He closed his eyes and even bent his head forward a little. Amazing how much this man trusted me in this situation when I didn't even trust myself. The feel and taste of his kiss lingered on my lips, leaving me wanting more, but I didn't dare press my luck just yet. When I finished lathering his hair, I gently angled his head back under the spray and worked the shampoo out.

Dago leveled his head, his eyes searching mine. I wasn't entirely sure at this point what he wanted or needed from me, but I took a chance. I bent my head forward and kissed his shoulder, letting my hand trail down his arm from his bicep to his wrist before bringing said wrist to my lips and pressing another gentle kiss there. I could feel his pulse against my lips, strong and steady. He threaded his other hand through my wet hair, stroking it gently a few times before letting his hand linger on the back of my neck, long fingers curling around just under my ear.

I let my lips leave his wrist, leveling my eyes back with his and felt him urging me forward with the hand on my neck until our lips were hovering just a breath apart.

"I shouldn't be doing this," he whispered guiltily.

I wasn't sure what to say. No, he shouldn't? No, neither of us should? I was beyond the thought of right or wrong at this point. I knew his God prohibited such acts between two men. I knew that, as a priest, this would probably land him in the 7th circle of hell, but in the middle of a war zone, where there is no sign of God whatsoever, how can He tell us what's right or wrong? What's wrong with two people finding a little solace in each other's arms? Granted, said people are men, but bodies are just bodies, and comfort is just comfort, and sex is just sex. I said the only thing that felt right at that moment. "It's okay, babe."

Anyone who knows me knows that 'babe' is something that I call just about anyone I consider a friend. I guess it's my own personal equivalent to the word 'friend,' but in this case, babe meant more to me than just friend. It was a term of endearment. I think perhaps he felt or heard the distinction in the word, or maybe was placated by my simple encouragement, because his lips brushed over mine. This kiss wasn't nearly as fierce or demanding as the first had been. This one was soft and gentle; a slow, languid melding of our mouths. We seemed to work in tandem, anticipating each other. His lips parted just as my tongue slid forward. As nice as our first kiss was, this kiss was even more electrifying. I brought one hand up to rest on his waist, feeling the sinewy muscle of his oblique beneath my fingers. Dago's hand left the back of my neck, sliding down across my shoulders and he pulled my body flush against his own.

I couldn't stop the moan that escaped from my mouth into his as our cocks were pressed together between our bodies. I wanted to grind myself against him and find release for the second time that day, but I was willing to let him take the lead, as he seemed more likely to let things progress if I wasn't pushing him. I knew we couldn't stay in here alone forever, and the longer we stood there lip-locked, the more likely someone was to walk into a very awkward situation. I didn't really think 'I tripped' would be an adequate excuse for this blatant display of bisexuality on my part.

Dago seemed to once again be reading my mind as he slowly brought the kiss to an end and rested his forehead against mine. "We have to stop," his was the voice of reason…damn it. "Someone could…"

"I know," I murmured gently, in no way, shape, or form ready for this to be over. He pressed one last kiss to my lips then disentangled himself from me and turned so that the water was coursing down over his face. He pulled back, swiping his hand down his face and looked at me with a pleading expression.

"Please don't tell anyone about this, Hawkeye."

I felt somewhat hurt that he would even ask such a thing, but I understood at least. "Of course not."

Dago sighed heavily and nodded, then reached for his soap as I began to shampoo my hair. There was a strained silence between us as we showered quietly. I couldn't think of anything to say, and it was obvious that he couldn't either. I felt like the elephant in the room was standing there, staring at us.

When we both finally thought of something to say, we spoke at the same time, "Have you ever-"

We stopped and stared at each other, and I couldn't help but laugh. He blushed but smiled softly.

"You first," I told him.

"I think you know what I was going to ask."

"Have I ever done this kind of thing before?"

He nodded somewhat hesitantly.

"With a guy? No. This is a first." I told him as I lathed my chest with soap. He was drying himself off. "What about you?"

Dago didn't meet my eyes. "Do you remember a couple of weeks ago when I came to you about Painless' problem?"

"Yeah," I said, trying to connect the relevance of his non-answer to my question.

"There is no absolution for the sin of homosexuality," he said gently. "When I came to you for help with Painless, it wasn't just because I couldn't forgive his sins…it…well, his problem hit home with me."

I'd stopped soaping myself and was now listening with rapt interest as he started putting his shower things away.

"I'm not a…homosexual," he said with some effort. "I'm not supposed to be sexual in any sense of the word. I took a vow…sex is supposed to be some obscure concept to me."

"But it isn't," I finished gently for him.

"No, it isn't…and neither is what we're doing." He said, his eyes meeting mine. I couldn't look away. "Remember the friend from seminary I told you and the others about?"

"Sure, the one who nicknamed you."

"Yes…Danny is his name. We…well, I don't want to say we had a relationship, per say, but I suppose when you look at it, that's what it was."

I was almost salivating as he confessed this to me. Who knew that Father John Mulcahy had such a sordid past?

"We never had sex," he clarified. "Not really anyways."

"Not really?" I interrupted. I definitely needed clarification on that.

"We…" he licked his lips to moisten them and I could see his cheeks burning as he adverted his eyes.

"Masturbated each other? Sucked each other off? What?" I couldn't help but press for details. I planned to add this to my repertoire to call upon later in my fantasies. Yes, I know how sick and twisted I am.

"Hawkeye!" He sounded more scandalized than offended.

"Just trying to get the picture," I grinned sheepishly, rinsing the soap off my body and reaching for my towel as he continued.

He ran a hand through his damp hair. "Maybe we shouldn't talk about this."

"Dago, come on. I'm sorry. Please, continue. You and Danny…"

"We—"

The shower door creaked on its hinges and we both turned to see Spearchucker stick his head in.

"Damn, Hawkeye, you're still in here? Come on, man, the movie's about to start and I lined us up a couple of girls."

"Sorry, 'chuck, I was just talking to Dago. Let me go throw on some clothes and I'll meet you there."

Spearchucker ducked out again and I turned back around to see Dago hurriedly throwing on his robe and gathering his supplies. He stuffed his feet into his boots, not bothering with the laces and I barely caught his arm as he tried to zip by me. He didn't meet my eyes, but I slid my hand around his neck and pulled his lips to mine, kissing him. He responded, though not nearly as thoroughly as he had earlier.

"We're not done with this," I told him gently, brushing his damp hair off his forehead. "I want to hear about you and Danny. Can I come to your tent later tonight?"

I fully expected a 'no' and was pleasantly surprised when he merely nodded. I kissed him one more time, then let him go, watching him all but run out of the showers.

True to his word, Spearchucker had landed me a date, and with Nurse Becky, no less. She had legs that wouldn't quit, and a tongue that seemed to be everywhere but inside her own mouth. We sat in the back of the mess tent as the movie played and I let her kiss me. It was nice, but I couldn't stop thinking of Dago and the way his mouth had felt on mine. Was I really thinking of Dago when I had a beautiful woman's tongue down my throat? I was so screwed…

"Let's go to the supply tent," she whispered wantonly in my ear. I wasn't going to say no.

We slipped out together and into the supply tent before she was back in my arms, kissing me as though it were her last day on earth, her hands working on my pants. I'd seen fast women before, but she was in a class by herself. Before I really had time to register any rational thoughts, she was on her knees with my cock in her mouth.

Once again thoughts of Dago Red popped into my mind as I thought about what he'd started to tell me about him and his friend Danny. I eagerly wondered what they had done together. What delicious sins they had committed together. Knowing he wasn't quite as pure and innocent as I'd originally expected him to be somehow made me want him even more. At least I wouldn't be the one who corrupted him; that had to count for something, right God?

When I ran my hand through the head of hair currently attached to my cock, I was surprised by the fact that the locks were long, not short…and blonde rather than reddish brown. Oh right…Becky… As nice as her technique was, I was anxious to go find Dago and finish what we'd started. I pulled Becky to her feet and turned her around, bracing her against the spare gurney stashed against the wall as my hands fumbled with the fastenings on her pants from behind. She helped me push them down to her knees and I bent her over, entering her quickly.

Ah….fuck…. I don't care who was on my mind, her pussy felt so good. I fucked her until she came on my dick, then I told her to get on her knees and finish me off, which she happily obliged. I thanked her for a good time, idly promising we'd do it again, and patted her bottom to send her on her way. I made sure no one was watching me as I headed off in the other direction towards Dago's tent.

The light was on as I knocked, but clicked off seconds later before the door was pushed open just enough to let me slip inside. I heard him latch the door and felt my heart pounding against my chest. He reached out to me in the dark, finding my arm, then pulled me to him. Our lips found each other's and his tongue was the first to venture forth this time.

Whether or not he could tell that I'd just had sex remained a mystery to me, but he obviously didn't care…or if he did, he wasn't letting it show. I was disappointed that he'd gotten fully dressed again, but he didn't resist as I pushed his jacket off his shoulders. Why did this seem so familiar? Ah yes…my fantasy…

His hands were slipping up under my jacket, easing it off my shoulders. I'd already cum twice today, could I go again? I was sure willing to give it the good old college try. My hands went to the fastenings on his pants. I hesitated, but he didn't stop me, and soon my hand was sliding south of the border beneath trousers and boxer shorts until my palm was flat against his hard cock.

His mouth broke from mine then as he practically panted, breathless. I wasn't sure if he was about to tell me to stop or not, but I didn't wait to find out. I curled my fingers around the length of his shaft and began to stroke him. He took a shuddering breath, letting his head fall back. I could only see his silhouette in the darkened tent, but somehow I knew his eyes were closed. I pressed my lips against his throat, kissing down to the collar of that black t-shirt. He surprised me by grabbing the hem and wriggling out of it, dropping it somewhere on the floor. My lips reclaimed their hold and I kissed down to the hollow of his throat. I felt the cold metal of dog tags and the chain of his cross necklace as my lips slipped along to his clavicle.

His breathing was growing rapidly unsteady as my hand continued to pump his cock, but I wasn't through with him yet. I gently maneuvered us towards his cot, releasing his cock long enough to push his pants and boxers down his hips. I felt him toeing off his boots and smiled to myself at how much easier this seemed to be than before. There was no doubt in my mind that he wanted this, maybe even needed this, as much as I did. I let him take over removing his own pants as I pulled my shirt off over my head and tossed it aside. I quickly toed off my boots, sweeping them out of the way with my foot, then went for my belt.

"Wait," Dago said softly, his hands somehow finding mine in the darkness. A few seconds of tense silence passed between us before Dago pulled my hands away from my belt and took over working the fastenings himself. There weren't any doubts in my mind at that point, I could definitely go for a third time tonight. He pushed my trousers down my hips and I pounced. I pushed Dago back on his cot, following him down and covering his body with my own as our lips met once again. I was quickly becoming addicted to kissing him.

Army cots aren't exactly roomy, but I'd had enough practice to know how to make it seem spacious even with two people. I worked my hand between us again, finding both of our cocks and holding them together in my fist as I stroked us in unison. Dago moaned into my mouth and his hands found my backside, slipping along my ass. Though I'd never done it before, and certainly had never entertained the idea before this crazy fixation with Dago, I suddenly wanted him in my mouth. I pulled away from his lips, and kissed along his jaw to his ear.

"I want to taste you, Dago." I murmured. I could feel his heart pounding against my chest as he breathed raggedly beneath me. "Will you let me?"

"Yes," he whispered on tenterhooks.

I released our cocks, making him shudder as I licked and nipped my way down his chest and stomach. He slipped up the cot a little bit to give me room to lie in a child's pose between his legs. I thought of Becky's expert blow job not more than a half an hour before to help give me inspiration as I took his cock into my mouth. He groaned rather loudly and stuffed his pillow over his face. I had to chuckle at that, but then refocused my attention to the task at hand. Dago was slightly bigger than average, though not a behemoth like Painless. He was a mouthful, but I found this almost enjoyable…as did Dago. The noises being muffled by his pillow would have been comical if I wasn't trying to interpret them as pleasure, disgust, or something else entirely.

His fingers wove into my hair and he dropped the pillow away from his mouth so that he could breathe without suffocating himself. I bobbed my head up and down his shaft, fascinated by all the ridges and veins and sheer anatomy of his member. Playing with your own was one thing, but you couldn't suck your own cock unless you were extremely flexible, and it was strangely pleasing to have his cock in my mouth.

He made a soft noise that sounded like a sob or a sigh, and I felt his fingers gently pulling my hair. "Haw…Hawkeye," he stuttered.

"Mmm?" I spoke around his cock, making him gasp as the sound vibrated him.

"Hawkeye, I'm going to…"

I knew the meaning; we've all said that by way of warning to those with their mouths around our genitalia. It was a courtesy call that said 'stop now if you don't want a face full of cum.' I however, had no intention of stopping.

"Mmm hmm," I vibrated him again and he groaned brokenly, throwing his head back. I worked him more furiously, making noises in my throat to stimulate him and he grabbed for his pillow, holding it tightly over his face as he moaned uncontrollable, his hips lightly thrusting involuntarily. I knew he was close, right on the edge of orgasm. I knew how I liked to be finished, so I sucked solely on the head of his cock and found his balls with my hand, gently squeezing them. It sent him tumbling gracelessly over the edge. His cum shot into my mouth, hitting me in the back of the throat. I nearly gagged, but managed to keep my cool. I could feel his entire body tense beneath me as he bucked up against my mouth, riding out the waves of pleasure as he continued to spill in my mouth. I wondered how long it had been since he'd been with Danny.

When his cock went slightly slack, I slipped him out of my mouth and had a decision to make. Spit or swallow. I didn't think Dago would appreciate me spitting a mouthful of his cum on his floor, so I swallowed my pride and swallowed his cum. I nipped at his hip bone and he groaned softly, brushing a hand through my hair as he moved the pillow aside once more and pulled up into a sitting position, crossing his legs Indian style on the cot.

I wasn't sure what to expect next, maybe an awkward 'thank you, goodbye' but now that my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, I could see him clearly and he was looking at me with intent. I didn't need to be told what he wanted. I simply lay on my back, finding his pillow and stuffing it under my head. Dago moved over me, straddling my hips as best he could in an army cot with one hand braced against my shoulder, and the other gripping the edge of the cot. He leaned down, his dog tags and cross jingling together until they were silenced against my chest as he kissed me deeply. He slipped lower, moving his legs between mine as he kissed my jaw and bit my neck. I hissed a little as his bite lingered between pleasure and pain, but moved my hand up to the back of his neck to hold him there. What's a little pleasure without a little pain? I had a fleeting thought that he might leave marks, but found I didn't care.

He moved down to where my neck sloped into my shoulder and bit down there too, this time a little harder. I actually cried out a little before I bit down on my own lip to keep quiet. Had I known Dago liked it a little rough, I wouldn't have been so gentle with him…

"Too hard?" he murmured, soothing the stinging skin with his tongue.

"God no, babe." I massaged his neck. "It feels incredible."

He moved his lips over about an inch and bit down again. If the other two hadn't left marks, this one certainly would. One thing was for certain, Dago was driving me crazy. My dick was rock hard, pinned deliciously beneath him. He rearranged himself so that he was no longer straddling me, and pressed a kiss to my sternum before looking up at me. The look in his eyes was positively wicked and he gave me a lopsided grin that only amplified the devious expression on his face. I shivered as he moved himself down between my legs, his dog tags and cross sliding down my belly before he took hold of both necklaces with one hand and pulled them off over his head, dropping them on the floor next to the bed. I felt his hand take hold of me, his hot breath against the head of my cock before I was enveloped by his warm, wet mouth.

Jesus wept…My mind supplied every possible pun that was completely inappropriate in this moment. How this man was born to speak in tongues, how he should never get up off his knees…I think I even went so far as to think 'Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.' How had I gone from merely noticing this man, to fantasizing about him, to having him sucking my cock? What a strange and completely unexpected turn of events. Shouldn't God himself be coming down to smite us both? Thank God I was a devout unbeliever. I didn't even want to think about what this might be doing for Dago's faith.

"Fuck, Dago…" Maybe not the best explicative, but what expression does one use when there is a Catholic priest between your legs, sucking your cock so good you could just spontaneously combust? I figured 'Oh God' might be too much for him to hear…if he could even hear anything on our decent into Hell.

I belatedly realized how loud I was moaning when Dago's hand reached up and covered my mouth to muffle my cries. Anyone who knows me, or at least has had sex with me, knows that I've never been the vocal type during sex. A little dirty talk, one or two 'oh yeahs', but never like this. His other hand cupped my balls and he took me deep in his throat, vibrating his vocal chords like I had done to him. I nearly hit the ceiling as I came unglued. I thrust my hands into his hair, gripping onto him as I fucked his mouth.

With his hand over my mouth, I couldn't warn him of my impending orgasm, but I was pretty sure there was no need to. I thrust up into his mouth with frenzied movements. He squeezed my balls tighter. And I came. There wasn't much cum this go-round, but the orgasm was still intense. As I started to come off my high, Dago pulled his hand away from my mouth and moved up my body to lie next to me on the cot as best he could. He propped his head up on his hand and kissed my shoulder.

I smiled lazily. "That was good."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." He murmured.

"Did you?" I ask, looking up at him curiously.

He nodded, smiling softly. "Very much. Both times."

"Both ti…oh." I laughed softly, realizing his meaning: once when I was sucking him off and again when he was sucking me off. "Finish telling me about Danny now that we're alone for a while."

He blew out a breath, his eyes going unfocused as he obviously tried to think of where to start. "It started in seminary, before we were ordained. We were roommates. He was quite a troublemaker, a real deviant sometimes. I never understood why he was going into the priesthood. He told me that he always wondered what it would be like to be with a boy and said that he often had sexual fantasies of sodomizing someone. I, of course, was mortified. I mean, curiosity is one thing, but homosexual ideologies are something else entirely. He made me swear I wouldn't tell anyone, and of course I didn't. It wasn't my place to judge him, I knew he'd be accountable to God one day."

Dago cleared his throat and shifted slightly to get more comfortable. I turned on my side, facing him, and propped my own head up on my arm. I moved my leg in between his and he moved his body closer to mine. I leaned in and kissed him before letting him continue.

"One night, it was quite late, but neither of us could sleep. We'd been telling jokes, trying to keep our voices down so we didn't wake up anyone else in our hall. It was cold, probably middle of December, and it was snowing outside. Danny asked if we could share my bed because my blankets were warmer. I was leery, but allowed him to get in bed with me. Nothing happened that night, but each night after that for a week he asked to share my bed, until finally he stopped asking and just got in bed with me. One night, it was probably a couple weeks after he started sleeping in my bed, I woke up feeling really aroused, with his hand in my pajamas. I was still in that half-asleep state so everything was really hazy, and I remember asking him what he was doing, but not stopping him. It felt good, really good. It was the first orgasm I ever had. I felt horribly guilty by it, but mostly because I secretly wanted it to happen again. For the next few days, nothing did, and finally I told Danny I wanted more. He didn't just jerk me off that time, though…he went down on me. After I finished, he told me he wanted me to go down on him, so I did. This happened pretty much every night for a couple of years…"

"Years? Geeze, Dago, no wonder you're so good at sucking cock." I couldn't help myself.

He blushed. "Yes… well… I shouldn't be…"

Ah the Catholic guilt. It was strong, but it certainly wasn't stopping him.

"Anyways," he continued. "Danny had always tried to talk me into letting him penetrate me, but that was where I'd drawn the line. I can't tell you how many times I quoted the story of Sodom and Gomorrah to him, but he wouldn't give up. Remember the time he got me drunk?"

I nodded.

"I wasn't just too drunk to do my duties in the church; I was too drunk to say no to him."

"Dago," I said softly, resting my hand on his cheek. "That's…"

"Rape, I know." He murmured, averting his gaze. "But I didn't think of it like that at the time, and…well once it had happened, and it had felt so good…I didn't stop him from doing it again. I told him that once I took my vows, though, that I wouldn't let him do that anymore. He agreed, but I think he thought I'd give in or something."

"Did you?"

"Not while we were in seminary." He said seriously. "I still did everything else with him, though I knew I shouldn't. There was one time after seminary we were together, but when we went to Chaplain school and joined the Army, things had changed. He still wanted to, pressured me to, but I still had strong convictions about it. There were times when I gave in, when we were alone and the opportunity allowed for it, but finding time where no one else was around was difficult. Besides that, though, he had really changed since seminary and we'd started growing apart. By the time we finished our training and got our orders, we weren't even friends anymore. I haven't talked to him since."

Dago sighed and looked at me, "I know that what I've said paints me as a homosexual, but I don't…well I'm not. I'm not."

"I know what you mean, babe," I didn't consider him a fairy any more than I considered myself one. "To me, sex is sex. You can't help who you feel attracted to. I certainly never thought I'd end up in bed with a guy before, and I'm married!"

Dago made a sound of distress and covered his face, falling back on the cot. "Oh, God…why'd you have to remind me of that, Hawkeye? I'm going to Hell…I've broken so many Commandments and vows and laws…"

Though I knew Dago was completely serious, I couldn't help but laugh. "Dago, you can only go to hell if I believe what we're doing is a sin, too. And I don't."

"It doesn't work like that, Hawkeye."

"Well, in my book it does," I fought to get his hands away from his face, laying on top of him as I looked down at him. "You and I have very different ideas about God and Hell, Dago. I personally don't believe in either, but if I did, I wouldn't choose to believe in a God who would punish someone like you for something like this. How many men and women have you confessed here who have admitted to adultery?"

"Several." He admitted, though glumly.

"And did you tell them they are going to Hell?"

"Of course not."

"Do you think they are?"

"I can't know that."

"So, what? You offered them absolution?"

"Yes."

"What makes you different from them, John?" He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. "And don't say it's because you're a priest."

His mouth snapped shut with an audible click.

"Yeah, you're a priest, so what? You're still human, babe. I know enough about your Bible to know that humans are always going to sin, it's in our nature."

"But I took vows, Hawkeye." He argued. "I know the Word of God, I know right from wrong."

"Well, then why did you do it? Why me? Why Danny?"

"I don't know," he said brokenly.

I leaned in and pressed my lips to his. He made a noise, but didn't try to push me away.

"You're really not helping," he said as I pulled back.

"Look, Dago," I said seriously, brushing my hand through his hair. "I don't know what it is about you that's got me so mixed up, but I really like what happened here tonight and I'd like it to happen again sometime."

He closed his eyes and sighed. I could see the thoughts running through his head as he tried to come to terms with how he was feeling about this encounter. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at me. "So would I," he said barely audible.

It occurred to me then that I was encouraging a priest to forget his vows, forget his commandments, and forget everything he held sacred just for a romp with me. It also occurred to me that Dago—even in the state of upset that he was in—was willing to do just that. I kissed him again, this time sweetly, reluctant to leave his bed and the warmth of his arms, but knowing Trapper and Duke would soon send out a search party for me.

"Promise me you're not going to regret this, Dago." I couldn't ask him not to feel guilty. He was Catholic, guilt was practically a prerequisite.

"I should," he told me seriously. "But I won't. I never regretted it with Danny, and I know I won't with you."

I kissed him again, and again. Was I ever going to be able to stop kissing him?

"I gotta go," I told him between kisses.

"You're getting nowhere fast," he replied, returning each of my kisses.

"Wise guy," I smiled, giving him a lasting kiss before finally pulling myself off of him and onto my feet. "You know, you're quite witty when you want to be."

"Of course," he said softly, taking his dog tags and cross from my fingers as I picked them up off the floor. "There's more to me than rosary beads and prayers."

"Boy, I'll say," I teased with a grin as I pulled on my pants and fastened them.

He blushed, grinning at me as he got to his feet and found his boxers. Once I was dressed, I looked at him, still standing solely in his boxers. Damn, I wanted him again. He grabbed the lapels of my jacket and pulled me to him, and our tongues had once last dance before he slowly let me go, unlatching the hook holding his tent door closed. He peeked his head out to see if the coast was clear, then gave me a small nod. I kissed his neck, then slipped out into the night. The movie was just letting out and I walked towards the swamp as if I'd just come from post-op rather than Mulcahy's tent.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulcahy's POV.

I stood at my tent door for several minutes following Hawekye's departure, quietly disbelieving what I had done…and had agreed to keep doing. I'd sworn after Danny that I would never do this kind of thing again. Why did I keep letting myself give in to this weakness?

Lying down on my cot, still warm from our embrace, I tried to seriously consider Hawkeye's earlier question: Why Danny and why—now—Hawkeye?

Like I told Hawkeye, priests are supposed to be the antithesis of sexuality, as in we're expected to read Song of Solomon with our eyes closed and our ears shut. We are supposed to represent an ideology that sex is a sacred act between man and women: a husband and a wife. The Bible strictly prohibits sexual acts between men, and even further the Church prohibits priests from engaging in sexual acts with anyone. Even masturbation is considered sinful. Typically, I shy away from any conversation that entails the topic of sex just to be on the safe side. The subject tends to get me flustered altogether, so normally I have no problem in sticking to my vows in this particular area, but twice now—well, more than twice, but we'll just consider partners rather than encounters—I'd given over to my carnal urges with barely a second thought.

Why? Why?

Danny was a little simpler to understand…I was young, inexperienced, and more weak-willed. I've never had the confidence that other men seem to have, so I was always eager to please others in order to make them like and accept me. Danny was no exception. He was a rebel rouser, but he was popular and handsome, charming and funny. It was hard not to like Danny, even despite the fact that his deepest, darkest secrets made me cringe and want to cling to my Bible.

At first I let him take advantage of me, because I didn't want him to dislike me, but I—grudgingly—admit that I also enjoyed being molested by him. Yes, what he did was wrong, but it felt good. Mankind learned long ago that sex isn't just about procreation. It's pleasurable. Very pleasurable. Just because I'm a priest doesn't mean I can't appreciate that fact.

So I let Danny touch me that first time, awakening that dark part of me that would continue to yearn for his touch, ache for release. It wasn't a matter of homosexuality, it was strictly about pleasure. Whether or not it was Danny with me didn't matter much, it could have been anyone. I wasn't turned on by who I was with; I was turned on by what was happening to me.

Though I knew what we were doing was morally and Biblical wrong, I couldn't stop. I told Danny repeatedly that once we were ordained it would come to an end. We would be official men of God, we would take a vow of chastity, and what we were doing could be no more. Danny always idly agreed, saying something to the effect that he was just 'getting it all out of his system' but I never truly believed him. I'm not even sure I trusted my own vow to end our encounters at that time.

I did manage to stay faithful to my vows for a while after ordination. Danny and I left seminary and had taken different paths for a while, but we wrote to one another. He would tell me how much he missed me and how he wished we could be together again. When I wrote to him and told him I was going into chaplain school, he didn't say much, but when I arrived that first day, his was one of the first faces I saw. That's when it started all over again. It was less frequent, just as I'd told Hawkeye, but whenever an opportunity presented itself, we were together. What I hadn't told Hawkeye was why we had started to grow apart at that time.

The convictions I had over what we were doing were still very strong, but the temptation of the flesh was stronger than my will. Danny always seemed indifferent to our sinning, and just like I'd told Hawkeye, he had changed since seminary. I felt he'd become more reckless, more unstable. When I finally found my resolve to start telling him no, he was like a spoiled child. He'd even gone so far as to try to hurt himself, or me, in order to break my resolve. He was dangerous and he frightened me. I tried to make sure I was never alone with him and when I was, I made any excuse I could to get away from him. Finally, he had no choice but to move on, though he still tried to find ways to exact his revenge.

Even as dangerous as Danny was, I still missed the easy camaraderie he and I had shared for so many years. We'd been friends long before anything sexual began, but by the end, he was almost unrecognizable to me. He seemed like a completely different person. I knew that my Danny no longer existed, and to this day I still pray for him to find peace within himself.

I'd told Hawkeye that Danny and I had never really had sex, and I still consider that to be true. To me, sex is a mutual, consensual act. With Danny, though I desired the pleasure and gratification, the act had never felt either mutual or consensual. Just as Hawkeye had said, it had been more like rape on more than one occassion, even though I had enjoyed it.

Once I came to Korea and found myself in the midst of this civil war, my priorities righted themselves again. I felt I was where I was needed; I was ministering to soldiers, civilians, anyone I could. I was offering confessions, giving last rites, bringing salvation to lost souls. I felt like a true missionary, and my past with Danny quickly faded into the background.

And then came Hawkeye. Cool, confident, handsome…just like Danny. Hawkeye had that same reckless air about him, which both frightened and enthralled me. I was friendly, of course—I couldn't shun someone simply because they reminded me of a past I wanted to forget—but I kept my distance. As chaplain, it was my duty to know the religious preference of everyone in camp and offer my services in whatever capacity they needed, but Hawkeye had been quick to tell me he was a non-believer and found no use for holy men. Though his words hadn't been meant as insult, I admit that it still stung. I still had that overwhelming need to be liked and accepted and needed by everyone.

Hawkeye and I were cordial in passing, but he never sought me out, and I was far too intimidated by his boisterousness to ever say more than hello or goodbye or how are you. A few times I had tried to be 'just one of the guys' and join in on their antics, but I was wholly out of place around Hawkeye, Trapper, Duke and the others. Hawkeye never spared me a second glance most of the time, but he was kind, and I knew that he had a gentle spirit underneath the cocky exterior.

As much as Hawkeye reminded me of Danny, I didn't feel those same urges or sexual desire. I wanted to be his friend, but sex never crossed my mind. All of that changed, however, in the blink of an eye.

Capt. Walter 'Painless Pole' Waldowski, DDS, who we all affectionately called 'Jawbreaker' among his many other notorious nicknames, came to me one afternoon and confessed that he thought he was a homosexual. He was distraught by his discovery, of course, but he felt that the only option—the only cure, if you will—was suicide. He told me he was planning to kill himself, but he hadn't thought of how just yet. Homosexuality was one thing; it could be forgiven if the sinner was truly repentant and never followed such paths again. Suicide on the other hand, was a Hell-worthy trespass. There was no forgiveness for taking your own life. I counseled him for quite some time, telling him that God considered suicide a mortal sin and priests could grant no absolution in such matters. I implored him to talk to a psychiatrist, but he said he'd rather be dead than crazy, and left my tent. I all but panicked.

As a priest who hears confessions, I'm bound by a vow of silence to never repeat what is said in the confessional, but I knew I couldn't sit idly by while Painless planned his suicide. That made me an accessory to his death; the burden of his soul was on me. If he killed himself and went to Hell, I would forever know that I'd done nothing to help him. I couldn't live with that kind of guilt.

I quickly came up with options. I could call a psychiatrist to evaluate Painless, I could talk to Colonel Blake, I could call the Military Vicar's office for advice...but no matter what I did, if I told anyone that I thought Painless was going to kill himself, he would know that I broke my vow and he would never trust me again. I needed to find someone Painless could trust, someone that would care enough not to say that they'd heard it from me…Hawkeye. His name came into my mind like the answer to a prayer and I knew it was the right thing to do.

Hawkeye had been in the Swamp with the rest of his gang and a few nurses. I seriously debated going in, but knew Painless' situation was critical and I needed to overlook my own discomfort to help the damaged soul. Lieutenant 'Dish' was sitting in Hawkeye's lap as I went in and the two were so involved in their own tryst that they didn't even notice me until Duke shouted my name drunkenly. Finally Hawkeye looked up and we made eye contact.

"Hawkeye, I need to speak with you," I told him, my voice barely carrying across the short distance. My hands were shaking. He nodded at me, but didn't move. I cast a glance around the room, everyone else was eagerly looking at me, either waiting to hear what I was going to say or waiting for me to leave so they could return to their debauchery guilt-free. I swallowed my nervousness. "No…outside. Please. I need to talk to you outside."

Whether or not Hawkeye heard my distress, he complied and made Dish get off his lap before he stood and followed me out. His attention, however, was pulled to the stray dog he often took care of and he crouched down to pet him. I crouched as well so that I could keep my voice low, least others be eavesdropping.

"There's a problem with Walt Waldowski."

"Painless?"

"Painless." I nodded.

"You got a toothache? He's a good dentist." He said, not really paying attention.

"No, no it's not my problem, it's his problem."

He looked at me. "What do you mean? What is it?"

"Well…what is it…um…" I really hadn't thought this out before coming over here. I chewed on my thumb nervously as I tried to work out how to tell him without saying the actual words. "It's difficult to talk about, you see, because I learned about his problem in confession."

"Oh, and you can't…"

"I can't divulge what I…"

He was looking at me now with a serious expression as understanding dawned. "Can you give me a hint?"

"A hint?" This was starting to feel like a game and I was starting to feel like an idiot, but then I remembered something I'd overheard the other day from some of the guys Painless played poker with. It had seemed odd at the time, but I hadn't connected the dots until now. I told Hawkeye what I'd overheard, that Painless had been asked to rule on a poker hand and had responded with "What does it matter, it's only a game?"

"Painless said what does it matter, it's only a game? Poker only a game?"

Now he was completely serious, his full attention on me and the matter at hand.

"Yes, I thought it was strange too."

He seemed to understand the unspoken, or at least realized the severity of the problem. "Looks like I'm going to see a man about a tooth."

Even though I hadn't divulged what Painless had confided in me, I still felt like I was breaking my oath. I looked at the ground guiltily. "Thank you, Hawkeye. There are just some things that I can't grant absolution to."

I stayed crouched down, weighed down by my guilt, as he stood up. I expected him to leave, but he stood there for several seconds, and then his fingers were running through my hair gently, comfortingly.

That's when it happened. That's when those dark desires returned, but this time it was different. This time it wasn't just the touch I was enjoying, this time it was also the who. The gesture had been completely platonic, and I knew that, but I wanted it to be more. I wanted him to do more than just pat me on the head. I wanted him to hug me, hold me, tell me I'd done the right thing, but none of those things happened. Hawkeye left me there crouched in my own suffering as he went to offer his comfort to Painless.

I felt completely unsteady by the time I got back to my own feet. The guilt associated with Painless' situation coupled with that insatiable yearning I hadn't felt since Danny was almost more than I could bear. I returned to my tent and prayed. I prayed and prayed and prayed until I was totally prayed out, but it hadn't done any good. There was an awareness there that hadn't been there before. I desired Hawkeye Pierce.

I spent the next two days avoiding Hawkeye, and everyone else for that matter, like the plague. I did my duty in the OR, but I didn't fraternize with anyone like I normally would. No one noticed, as usual, but this time I didn't really care. I didn't trust myself anymore. I felt like if I even said hi to Hawkeye, I would end up confessing all of my transgressions to him in a moment of guilt and panic. I knew if I ever told Hawkeye what was going on, the rest of the world would know shortly thereafter. I was mortified by the sheer thought of it.

As the second day of my self-imposed exile drew to a close and I sat reading my breviary, there was a knock on my door and in walked the very person I had so carefully avoided, followed by Trapper John. Oh, God, help me, I thought swiftly as they seated themselves without invitation.

"How's it going, Red?" Trapper grinned at me, all but lounging in my bunk.

I ignored him and looked to Hawkeye, mentally stamping out the sudden feeling of butterflies in my stomach as his eyes held mine. "Did you talk to Walt?" I somehow managed to ask.

"He's parted his moorings," Hawkeye replied nonchalantly.

I felt my stomach drop at that news but before I could speak, Trapper continued.

"We're throwing him a Last Supper. We came to invite you."

Last Supper? Invite me? Was this a joke? My face must have registered the shock and confusion I was feeling because Hawkeye sobered a little and explained.

"Painless plans to cross the Great Divide tonight and we need your help to straighten him out."

"What do you want me to do?" I thought I'd made it clear there was nothing I could do.

"Put in one of your fixes." Hawkeye told me. "Walt knows he's loused himself with the Church but it's part of our plan to make him think he has the keys to the kingdom, which is where you come in."

This didn't sit right with me. "Hawkeye, I can't give absolution to a man who's about to commit suicide! It's a mortal sin!"

"What is, Dago? The intention or the act?"

He had me there. I thought for a moment before answering. "I believe it takes both…I'd have to look it up to be sure."

Hawkeye actually laughed at that. Not like I'd told a funny joke, but just general amusement that I should be, but wasn't, a complete authority on the matter. I felt somewhat incensed.

"Just use common sense." He told me. "Your job is preventing sin, and the way to do that is give him your best Cross Action."

I opened my mouth to rebuke, but Trapper cut across me.

"Or you can let him knock himself out. You personally'd be sending him to his grave."

The guilt resurfaced.

"An eternal damnation," Hawkeye added, intensifying my sense of responsibility in this matter. They really knew where to hit me. I was outmatched and overwhelmed. My head felt like it was spinning as I tried to assess my options.

"I don't know…" I said, feeling as though they had backed me into a corner. I was laden with the guilt that my inaction would damn Painless' soul, burdened by the sacred rites of my office, and beleaguered by the longing for Hawkeye to like me. "I should call the Military Vicar's office—"

"Call whoever you gotta call," Hawkeye said as he and Trapper stood to leave, "But we're doing this with or without you. Think about it, Dago, you'll be helping us save a life tonight."

I knew I only had a second before they were gone. Neither had any idea what type of internal war they had launched within me, and I wanted to be angry with Hawkeye for putting me in such a fix. "Alright…" I sighed as they reached the door. "I'll do it."

I tried to deny that I had agreed to do it mostly because Hawkeye had asked me to, but it was no use. I did my best to go along with the farce, overlooking the sacrilegious implications of their treating Painless like Jesus Christ in their recreation of the Last Supper. I left as soon as I'd played my part and returned full force to my prayer, trying once again to snuff out my feelings for Hawkeye.

The more I tried not to think about, or acknowledge, Hawkeye, however, the more hyper-aware of him I became. I could practically sense his proximity almost as eerily as Radar could sense choppers approaching. This was definitely different than anything I'd had with Danny. Hawkeye always seemed to be the next thought on my mind and it was taxing not to let myself think of him, or what I'd like to do with him.

I didn't understand my attraction to him. Yes, he was a likeable guy, but when had he ever really shown any interest in me as a person, or as anything? I felt like an outsider looking in around him, like another lost stray hoping to be picked up and cared for. It was pathetic, even in my mind, and I felt greatly disturbed by the fact that despite all of this I still liked him.

A couple of weeks passed with relative normalcy. I kept to myself and no one bothered me except for confessions. I wondered how long it would take for the feelings of desire to subside, so that I could move on like I had with Danny. It was also a very miserable couple of weeks as the weight of it all sat heavily on my chest. I had no one to talk to about my problem, and had no idea what I'd even say given the chance. My hyper-awareness of Hawkeye stayed strong during that time, though I'd finally learned to turn it out…mostly.

One morning—a fairly typical morning—I had finished what I could stomach of breakfast and had taken out my breviary and rosary beads. Fingering beads had always been a very soothing act for me. Running the polished beads between my fingers was calming and distracted me from my thoughts, bringing me to a better place mentally so that I could focus on my prayers and devotionals. I'd found myself using them more and more recently than I had in the past, almost like a security blanket. I spent several moments running the beads between my fingers, bowing my head and closing my eyes to center myself. Korea and its occupants melted away for a few blissful minutes. But it didn't last. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Hawkeye must be nearby.

I felt almost ill. I knew I couldn't keep going on like this. I idly considered requesting a transfer, but I feared there would be another Danny or another Hawkeye out there and I couldn't keep running from this problem. I needed to find a way to meet it head on and overcome it. I wrapped the beads around my hand and picked up the small book on the table, opening it as Hawkeye and his troop sat nearby in their usual spot. I felt like my body completely honed in on him, though I never let my eyes leave the page. I had no idea what I was reading, or even if the book was right-side up.

Hawkeye had been strangely quiet. Usually he would crack jokes or shout across the room at someone or laugh at whatever Duke and Trapper were on about, but this morning he seemed…subdued. He suddenly had my very full attention as my mind raced with possible reasons at his silence. I felt eyes watching me closely and tingled as I sensed it was Hawkeye. I couldn't for the life of me think of why he'd be looking at me, unless my book really was upside down. I focused on the page to make sure it wasn't and felt my heart do an odd little flip in my chest. Was he really looking at me?

I glanced over at him and our eyes met for a fraction of a second. He quickly looked down, feigning interest in the food on his tray, and my extremities suddenly went numb and tingly. He had been looking at me. Now the question was why? I nearly dropped my book in the half-eaten slop on my tray and laid it aside, least it become an unwitting casualty of my clumsiness. I scrubbed my hand over my face, trying to convince myself I wasn't dreaming and I hadn't just imagined that, but moments later that feeling of being watched returned. I had to get out of there.

His quiet observation of me continued for several days and was completely unnerving me. If he wanted my attention, why didn't he just speak to me? Why was he watching me? Did he know how I felt about him? Had I said something? Done something to give myself away? I agonized over it, replaying each minute of my day looking for some kind of clue as to his sudden interest. Moreover I was sick with worry about what he was thinking if he did know. Was he angry? Disgusted? His face never should any emotion, just… contemplation.

The first real time Hawkeye and his group had talked to me after that evening at Painless' staged suicide had been surprising. I don't even remember now what I had been doing when Trapper called out to me as I tried to slink past the Swamp. I'd thought about pretending I hadn't heard, but the sound of my name had frozen me in place, so I knew they knew I'd heard them. Trapper and Duke spoke for Hawkeye, inquiring as to the origin of my nickname, while he sat there looking at me intensely.

I nearly couldn't think for several seconds as I tried to remember how to breathe. This was an easy enough question normally, but now the man who had reawakened my desires was asking about a story that involved another man who had done the very same thing. I gave them all the very briefest, most edited version I could in hopes that I could soon escape from under that gaze, but instead the three of them laughed at me. I could feel my face burning in humiliation. Did they know about Danny? Was this all a cruel joke?

"So why do you go by Dago here?" Hawkeye had asked, amused but no longer laughing.

I gave another brief answer which only resulted in more laughter. I somehow managed to ask if that was all, hoping they'd let me leave so that I could find a rock to crawl under and hide for the rest of the war, and it was Hawkeye who graciously dismissed me. As I left, though, I could hear him rebuking his friends for laughing so thoroughly at me. It made me feel only marginally better as I trekked towards my tent, wishing I could just disappear. My Hawkeye-senses went off as I heard his unique whistle call and felt him running to catch up with me. I was shocked when he apologized about Trapper and Duke, looking up at him to judge whether or not this was all still part of some cruel joke, but his face had that same contemplative look I'd seen a lot of lately. He walked along beside me, and I slowed my pace, curious as to what he wanted.

He continued to apologize about the outburst and finally my curiosity got the better of me. I shouldered my pride. "Is there something you want to talk about?"

"Talk about?" He looked thoroughly confused.

I nearly lost my nerve at that point, but continued on, hopeful that I might get an answer to his odd behavior over the last few days so that my mind could finally rest. I told him I'd noticed him looking at me, leaving out the bit that I'd developed some sort of ESP that alerted me to whenever he was around.

He stuttered, stumbling over his explanation, which was highly unlike the Hawkeye I knew. He was a shadow of the confident, cocky surgeon who strutted around the 4077th like he owned the joint. As he rattled on about wanting to be friends, something slowly began to click into place. Could it be that he was having similar feelings of attraction to me? It would certainly explain his odd behavior and sudden nervousness around me.

Whatever his feelings, I couldn't hide my glee at the fact that he'd just extended a figurative hand of friendship towards me. If he wasn't attracted to me, at least he'd suddenly noticed my existence and cared enough to start seeking me out. I knew I was smiling and babbling about how great that was and how I considered everyone a friend. I felt like I was gushing, but I couldn't stop, and he smiled at me. It was different from his usual smile; it was almost…gooey. Like he was star-struck by me. Me of all people!

I felt that strange flip in my stomach again as his gaze stirred the well of desire inside of me. I wanted to pull him to me and kiss him, and belatedly realized my hand was moving towards him. I quickly redirected it to his shoulder and tried to say something affable, but in my own jitteriness I ended up making a lame joke about not cramming my Bible down his throat.

He laughed softly, though I wondered if he was just trying to be kind, and for a moment we just stood there staring at each other. As the seconds ticked by, awkwardness and doubt began to creep into the edges of my mind. I was suddenly afraid that I was simply being delusional about his attraction to me. Was I seeing what I wanted to see? Was this really just about an innocent friendship? It wasn't like I could just ask him!

He suddenly bade me goodnight and I somehow managed a smile and turned to leave before he called back and asked me what my real name was. My heart was thudding in my chest. I no longer had a clue what to think about this encounter. When he called me John I thought I would faint.

I spent the rest of the night pacing my tent, analyzing every second of the encounter, trying to pick up on anything I might have missed that would confirm or deny my suspicions. I wanted so badly to believe that Hawkeye felt the same way I did, but why on earth would he? He was a married man and I'd never seen him show any interest in other men, only women. How could I think he might possibly feel that way about me? He barely even spoke to me unless the situation necessitated it. I was pretty sure he'd never even notice if I was around or not…or at least I was sure up until his offer of friendship that night.

If his intentions were purely platonic, why would Hawkeye want to be friends with me? I still hadn't ruled out the possibility that this was all still a mean joke, but he'd seemed sincere and I didn't want to believe that he could be that cruel to my face. But if his intentions weren't platonic, then what? The fact remained that he was married. And a man. Both facts were very high on the "Thou Shall Not" list. Not to mention my vow of chastity. I couldn't help but think of Danny, and how easily I had fallen into sin with him. I knew the same would happen with Hawkeye should the moment ever present itself. There was no doubt in my mind I would cave. I simply wasn't strong enough.

I feared what would happen if the moment ever did come when I was sure of Hawkeye's intentions. My relationship with Danny had just been about pleasure between friends, but what would it be with Hawkeye? I felt positively enamored with him, though I desperately tried not to be. My feelings for him ran deeper than I cared to admit. I couldn't think about the consequences of what was to come; my mind simply couldn't process any more. I wanted to sleep, I felt so tired mentally and physically that I knew I'd have no trouble going to sleep now, but the sun was rising. Day had come.

I dragged myself to breakfast, knowing I needed nourishment but not feeling hungry. I managed to eat only a few bites before I pushed my tray away and pulled out my book of liturgies and my beads. My eyes refused to focus on the page and I gave up, dropping it back in my pocket and simply running my beads through my fingers as I tried to think holy thoughts. That also felt pointless. I set the beads down on the table and dropped my head in my hands, rubbing my tired eyes. I was about to leave and go back to my tent for a few hours of rest when there was movement around me and Hawkeye's voice bade me good morning.

My heart leapt into my throat as I looked at him, Trapper and Duke, wondering if I had fallen asleep at the table and they were now appearing in my dreams. I felt too tired for this to be a dream, and even Hawkeye looked dead on his feet.

Trapper made a comment about how Hawkeye and I looked as thought we'd slept together and I felt my extremities grow numb again in embarrassment, my face growing hot. Hawkeye swung around, demanding to know what Trapper meant by his comment. The tone of his voice spoke of deep resentment and offense, but the blush on his cheeks gave me pause.

When they asked why I looked like I hadn't slept either, I carefully worded my answer so as not to give any innuendo into the true reason. If Hawkeye did have feelings for me, he was obviously feeling very torn by them and had no intention of letting anyone else poke fun at his discomfort. I found myself cruelly thinking that he deserved a little taste of his own medicine, and promptly felt guilty about that thought.

Any ideas I'd had about sleep were shattered when Radar alerted us to the incoming choppers. I was suddenly quite glad I was a priest and not a doctor, as there was no way I'd be able to save a life as tired as I was, but I still had my work cut out for me, praying over each boy as the doctors worked on them and giving my best 'Cross Action' so that God would be on our side. I really wasn't paying attention to which doctor was at what table, but as I leaned in I heard Hawkeye say he needed my help.

I always got exceptionally nervous anytime the doctors asked for my 'help.' Typically when they wanted me to do my thing, they either just sent for me or called for some of my fancy fixes. 'Help' was generally the term they used when I was about to assist them with surgery. Hawkeye asked the nurse to glove me, which I was grateful for, as half the time they simply told me to hold some blood covered instrument or organ with my bare hand. I could handle the sight of blood pretty well, but it's different when you're wrist deep in a guy's guts without a glove on.

When Hawkeye instructed me on what I needed to do, however, I suddenly felt violently ill. He was kidding right? What organ was that exactly? I knew I shouldn't ask. When I hesitated, Hawkeye grabbed my hand and basically told me not to lose it as he plunged my index finger into a hole. He was not kidding. I knew I had to pull myself together, so I took a deep breath and focused. Shrapnel, I needed to find shrapnel. The inside of the organ was smooth and somewhat squishy—I didn't dare think about what was squishing around—but then I brushed across something hard with jagged edges. Carefully, I tried to ease it out without causing more damage to the organ than was already there, and was awed as I looked at the piece of metal sitting on the end of my finger.

I knew I had to go back in to make sure I'd found it all, so I didn't think about it and just did it, but once I'd withdrawn my hand, exhaustion and nausea took hold. Though I managed not to get sick, I felt terrible. My eyes ached, my head hurt, and I felt queasy. If I'd had the energy to walk back to my tent, I would have, but instead I sat on a bench in the scrub room trying to collect some get-up-and-go and wait for the nausea to pass.

When I did finally wordlessly leave, I could feel Hawkeye's eyes on me. His constant gaze was starting to irritate me in my tired state; I had no idea what he really wanted and it was driving me crazy! I counted the seconds, somehow knowing he was going to follow me. I had half a mind to flat out ask him what he wanted at this point, but instead I just told him I didn't feel well and blamed my bad mood on the nausea I felt from OR.

"OH!" His exclamation had startled me, and as I looked over I saw him reaching just under the neck of his shirt to retrieve my rosary beads. Where on earth had he found those? And why had he worn them? How long had he had them? "You left these at breakfast."

Oh...great, I could now add forgetfulness to my list of grievances for the day. He placed them in my palm before holding my hand gently. My heart skipped a beat. His touch was light and gentle, his hand warm over mine. I was stunned into inaction, frozen; what was he doing? What did he want me to do? I was in no state of mind to make any rational judgments about what was going on. I almost sighed out loud when he let go of my hand. I knew he was getting ready to leave and I didn't want him to.

"Hawkeye..." Oh, God...did I just say that out loud? He was looking at me expectantly from the door. I had to say something, but what? I wanted to tell him to stay with me, to lay with me so that we could both get some much needed rest, and maybe waking up together would make everything crystal clear, but what I said instead was, "I hope you're able to get some rest."

"You too, babe." He murmured as he slipped out my door. I fell back on my cot with a heavy sigh, too tired to think anymore about anything and promptly passed out for the remainder of the day.

I woke up feeling disoriented. My tent was dark and I wasn't sure what time it was, or how long I'd been asleep. I debated rolling over and just going back to sleep, but I was still fully dressed and even still had on my combat boots. If I was going to sleep, I needed to change clothes, and if I was going to change clothes, I needed a shower, and if I was going to shower I might as well just get up and stay up.

First thing was first, I needed to figure out what time and day it was. I checked my watch and saw that it was just after eight. Judging by the lack of light, I was willing to bet it was PM rather than AM, which meant that I'd gotten about 5 hours of sleep. Certainly not enough to make up for my sleepless night, but if I moved around a little and properly got ready for bed, I was confident I might be able to get back to sleep at a decent hour to catch up.

I decided to head over to the mess tent to see if there was anything decent to eat and bumped into Radar O'Reilly who was carrying a film tin.

"Evening, Radar," I smiled just as he greeted me back.

"Are you coming to the movie tonight, Father? It's got sound and everything this time." He asked excitedly. Radar was one of the very few people at the 4077th who preferred calling me 'Father' over 'Dago Red.'

"Oh, I'm a bit tired, Radar, but I'll try to make it." I typically enjoyed whenever we had movies, but more often than not they were giant flops as either the sound was somehow messed up, or the film was damaged, or the tins arrived empty. I didn't anticipate that tonight's film would have any greater success than its predecessors and sleep sounded far better.

Dinner was slim pickings, mystery meat and gravy on a shingle. I opted for just the shingles and some coffee. It was hard to give thanks over such a meager meal, but it was still food…in the very vaguest of terms. I sat down and ate, noticing that there were very few people milling around. I wondered where Hawkeye was, but knew if he had been as tired as I was, that he was probably sleeping. I couldn't help but smile at the thought of him passed out from exhaustion. I wondered if he'd fallen asleep in his clothes like I had. I resolved not to think about him just yet, because I knew if I started, I wasn't going to stop. I forced all thoughts to the back of my mind, finished my dinner, then headed back to my tent to collect my shower things.

The only good thing about movie nights was that typically no one ever showered early, so there was guaranteed to be some privacy and warm water. Wearing naught but my robe and boots, I ventured off towards the showers and was nearly steamrolled by Hawkeye, who seemed just as surprised to see me. His hand wrapped around my wrist, giving me that same feeling of butterflies as he told me I was going to miss the movie if showered now.

I gave a nervous laugh but assured him I wouldn't be that long, and to my great surprise Hawkeye asked if he could join me. My mind was filled with unholy thoughts and images at that prospect. I should have said no, but I didn't. I had to remember how to breath as I made my way to the shower, trying desperately not to think of Hawkeye. In the shower. No clothes on. With me. Damn it…I was getting aroused.

There was no one else in the showers when I arrived, so I quickly shed my robe and stepped under one of the shower heads to try and douse the flames of my desire. I had to get myself under control or I'd never be able to be around him. I took a deep breath and reached for my shaving cream, razor and little mirror. Where was my mirror? I heard—and sensed—Hawkeye enter the shower, but didn't turn around to look at him. If I didn't look at him, maybe I could keep myself from becoming obviously aroused.

He took the shower directly next to me, so close that I could reach out and touch him without having to stretch my arm fully out. I busied my hands by lathering my face in order to keep from doing just that. I'd never shaved without looking in a mirror and wasn't sure I'd be able to do it without either missing complete patches of stubble or slicing open the artery in my neck. I really had no ulterior motives when I mentioned this Hawkeye, but I nearly dropped my razor when he offered to do it for me. He took my razor, which I seemed to obligingly let him do, and waited for me to face him. I steeled myself, forcing my eyes to stay level with his, and turned towards him. My heart thudded against my chest as he stepped forward, his fingers gently tipping my chin up.

With both of us flat-footed and unclothed in the shower, I realized that Hawkeye and I were nearly the same height-he was just a few inches taller-and quite close in weight. I'd rarely ever seen Hawkeye without some type of cover on his head, and certainly less times without his glasses, but standing there before him, looking down my nose at him as he ran the razor along my neck, I couldn't believe just how effortlessly good-looking he really was. His hair was dark blonde, almost brown, and his eyes were ice blue. I started to wish he would stop wearing his tinted glasses all the time so his eyes wouldn't always be so obscured. There was always stubble lining his jaw, but on him it looked rugged rather than sloppy.

Danny had been somewhat shorter than me with strikingly blonde hair and hazel eyes, and a strong, lean body. Hitler would have probably used him as a poster boy during his reign. Danny's self-assurance seemed more like arrogance now that I considered Hawkeye's cool confidence. Hawkeye smiled softly as he finished shaving my upper lip. I turned my face under the water, and felt of his work, surprised that he had given me such a close shave without nicking me. If he ever gave up being a doctor, he could try his hand at being a barber.

"Thanks, Hawkeye."

"If you want to repay the favor, you can." He said causally.

I felt like my eyes bugged out of my head. Was he asking me to shave him now? As nervous as I was around him, I knew I'd probably accidentally shave his eyebrow off or something. I had meant to ask if he was sure, but the words that actually escaped my mouth were, "Do you want me to?"

"Yeah, sure. Why not?"

Why not indeed…I could list a thousand reasons why not. I still found myself in doubt about Hawkeye's intentions, even though we were naked together, virtually under the same spigot, taking turns shaving each other. I was pretty sure this fell under the heading of more than just friends; how much more proof did I need?

I picked up my shaving cream and put a fair amount in my palm, rubbing my hands together as I collected my nerves, then reached out and touched his face. His stubble was rough against my fingers, but the scrape of it was oddly comforting—much like working my beads. I made sure to cover every inch that I would be shaving so that I didn't inadvertently give him razor burn. He reached into his own shower kit and found his razor, holding it up in offering to me. I let my fingers brush against his as I took it from him.

I wasn't sure exactly how much pressure I should be applying to the razor, so my efforts were very tentative at first. Hawkeye closed his eyes and I found myself torn between wanting to look at him without his knowing and focusing on my task. I let my eyes drift a little to his chest and the dusting of dark hair.

The razor caught just under his jaw and I winced when I saw the thin trickle of blood. "Sorry…" I knew this was a bad idea. I was a menace with sharp objects. He reassured me that he did it all the time, but I highly doubted that. I stepped in closer so that I could better focus on what I was doing. I could practically feel the heat radiating off his body. It was intoxicating being this close to him, and then I felt his arousal against my thigh. All doubt fled my mind at that point and goosebumps erupted on my arms as my own arousal quickly flared up.

I finished shaving him, rinsed the razor, and looked at him. His eyes were boring into mine and I couldn't hold back any longer. I reached up, cupped his face, and kissed him. I half expected him to throw me off, doubt still nagging me at the back of my mind that I was wrong about his attraction to me, but his hands slipped around my neck, holding me in place.

An explosion of thoughts rocked my mind, making me unable to process what was going on for several seconds until I felt Hawkeye's tongue pressing firmly against my lips. I granted him access eagerly, shivering as he explored my mouth. It felt like it had been forever since I'd been kissed so thoroughly and it made me dizzy as I ached for more. When Hawkeye pushed me against the wall and grabbed for me, though, I felt like I'd been doused with ice-cold water. This was moving too fast, no matter how badly I wanted it. The "Thou Shall Not's!" were going off like warning bells in my head and I had to put an end to this so that I could take a breath. I pushed him back, but suddenly I found myself looking at Danny instead of Hawkeye. A stab of guilt and regret ripped through me and I blinked my eyes until Hawkeye's visage was what it should be. Was this God's way of telling me I better stop this?

I felt my eyes stinging with tears. "I'm sorry, Hawkeye…I can't…" My throat closed up before I could finish my sentence. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to keep going, I wanted to kiss and touch and by touched and kissed by Hawkeye, but my vows…I wanted to hate those vows, but I couldn't. Those vows represented a promise to God, a sacred covenant that I would be forever faithful to him. Oh, how I had failed my savior. The tears splashed down my face. I felt ashamed and guilty, but also afraid. Afraid that Hawkeye wouldn't understand, would walk away, would never speak to me again, would tell the rest of the camp what I'd done… Afraid that I would never touch him or kiss him again…

I realized after a long moment that I was holding his shoulders in a death grip, afraid to let go, although he had not made any attempt to leave and was looking at me with veiled expression. I slowly loosened my grip and was surprised when he took a step towards me. Not so close that my walls went up again, but he wasn't leaving, wasn't giving up on me. I was trembling slightly, wondering what he was thinking in that moment as he stepped forward again. I felt my stomach knot, but I didn't stop him. I swallowed hard as he took one more step, closing the distance until we were back where we started just before I'd kissed him. I eyed his hand as he reached around behind me and snagged my shampoo. When his fingers slipped into my hair and began to gently massage my scalp, I felt all the tension ebb out of me and I slowly began to relax as a sense of calm came over me.

He rinsed my hair and I looked in his eyes. There was nothing demanding or domineering about Hawkeye in this moment. There was simply understanding. The desire was still there, of course, but he wasn't pressuring me or pushing me beyond my limits. He wasn't forcing himself on me, he was simply trying to find a pace we both felt comfortable with. He pressed his lips against my shoulder and then brought my wrist to his mouth. The tenderness and care he exhibited with me was overwhelming and was eroding whatever was left of my resolve.

I gently pulled him to me. "I shouldn't be doing this."

"It's okay, babe."

It wasn't, but I was too far gone to worry about that now. I kissed him slowly, deeply, exploring his mouth. I felt his hands at my waist, and I pulled him against me, wanting to feel the way he felt. When he moaned into my mouth, I nearly lost control of myself, and fear once again resurfaced. This time it was the fear that if we kept going, I wasn't going to stop until we'd both found release and I knew that we could be discovered together at any given moment. With all my will power, I broke away from his lips, but didn't move away.

"We have to stop." I didn't want him to think that I wanted to stop, so I carefully added, "Someone could…"

Hawkeye nodded gently, our foreheads together. "I know."

I leaned in and kissed him one last time before letting him go, turning into the spray of water under my shower head to try and distract myself from my arousal. I wondered what he was thinking and feeling about what had just happened, and I still worried that he might say something to implicate me in this crime to one of his buddies. "Please don't tell anyone about this, Hawkeye."

"Of course not," he answered gently. I chided myself at having even asked such a favor. I didn't really expect he would go bragging to Trapper or Duke that I'd just had my tongue down his throat, but the fear of discovery was tied strongly to the guilt of what I was doing. An uncomfortable silence ensued. My thoughts turned once again to Danny as I evaluated how very different this experience was than my past encounters. I didn't know what would happen between Hawkeye and myself after this, or how far it would progress, but I felt like I should tell him about Danny…or at least that I'd been down this road before. I somehow felt that I owed him that much.

When I spoke, so did he. We stared at each other, disquieted that we'd both been thinking along the same lines and had thought to ask the same question. When he told me this was a first for him, I couldn't help but feel a swell of pride war with a strong sense of responsibility. So I was the experienced one when it came to this area…oh, how ironic.

Then he asked me if I'd done this kind of thing before. I didn't know where to start…

My explanation arched from Painless to my vows to Danny in a confusing storyline. I was surprised he could follow, even I was having trouble keeping up. When it came to explaining everything I'd done, I faltered. Hawkeye pressed for details, using crude slang that made me blush and I admonished him for it. He grinned at me and I lost my nerve and the desire to tell him such intimate details about my past.

"Dago, come on. I'm sorry." He sobered his expression, looking at me with genuine interest. "Please, continue. You and Danny…"

"We—"

The sound of the door opening stopped me dead in my tracks, my heart leaping into my throat as I looked to see who was there, wondering how long they'd been there and what they might have heard. My heart was racing as Spearchucker spoke to Hawkeye, not appearing as though he'd overheard anything. I suddenly felt like I was going to suffocate; that had been close, too close…if he'd come in five minutes ago… I couldn't entertain that thought. I grabbed my stuff and hurried to get out of there, but Hawkeye grabbed my arm, pulling me back to him and into another kiss.

"We're not done with this," he said softly as he brushed my hair from my face. I looked at him weakly. "I want to hear about you and Danny. Can I come to your tent later tonight?"

I could hear my own heart pounding in my head as he searched my eyes for an answer. His sincerity struck me and I felt my throat close with emotion. I knew I couldn't speak, so I simply nodded, and he kissed me again. I felt like I was going to break down and start sobbing uncontrollably right there, so I hurried out of the showers and avoided making eye contact with anyone I passed. I made it to my tent just seconds before tear drops started to fall.

I wasn't even really sure why I was crying, but it had been a very strange evening that still mostly felt like a dream. I still had trouble wrapping my mind around the fact that Hawkeye seemed to want me as much as I wanted him. My comparison between Hawkeye and Danny continued as I wiped my eyes with my towel and decided to change back into my uniform just in case someone other than Hawkeye dropped by.

Danny had been an aggressive kisser—much like he seemed to be with everything. His kisses were always hard and somewhat unpleasant. Hawkeye, on the other hand, was not aggressive—other than when he had pressed me up against the wall. Our first, initial kiss could only be described as passionate, but I blamed my eagerness for that. As the kiss progressed, however, it had softened and slowed and been thoroughly enjoyable. He didn't jam his tongue down my throat , or bump his teeth against mine, and it never felt like he was eating my face off. We seemed to have a rhythm, and a sort of give and take right from the start. Maybe Hawkeye was more experienced than Danny had been—well, I knew he was, but it seemed more than just mere experience. Hawkeye seemed more about mutual gratification whereas when Danny gave, he often expected more in return. It never felt truly equal.

Fully dressed, I sat at my desk and dropped my head in my hands with a heavy sigh. If Hawkeye stayed true to his word, he would be stopping by my tent at some point, which meant that it was going to be up to me to set the standard. We would be in my space, on my ground. I considered this very carefully. On the one hand, I knew what I wanted and how far I was willing to go…but on the other hand, did I dare do this?

The "Thou Shall Not's" were knocking at the proverbial door again. I didn't want to think about the fact that Hawkeye was married and that this was adultery. I couldn't justify that away, no matter how I tried. What I wanted with Hawkeye was sinful on every level. I knew that, but the problem was I still couldn't stop myself from wanting it. I reached for my Bible instead of my breviary and looked at the index for every reference to the word sin and sinner. Intentional sin was one of the most severe trespasses, but I had to know if I would be forgiven. The 10 Commandments spelled out very plainly that I should not covet him nor should I commit adulterous acts with him, and as a Catholic I still felt that those were the convents that God judged us by. I was already in deep enough for breaking my sacred vows, what would He do if I broke his Commandments too?

The knock on my door was all it took to convince me that I was already damned. As I got up and turned off the light, I had to wonder if I still had the fear of God in me.

I pushed the door open enough so that Hawkeye could slip inside. I felt his hand on my waist before it glided across my stomach as he slipped past me. I latched the door, then pulled him to me, kissing him hungrily. He responded eagerly, his hands pushing my jacket off my shoulders and down my arms until it pooled behind me. I reciprocated just as readily, letting my hands slide along his lean body as I helped him out of his jacket. His hands went to my belt and I didn't stop him. I was hard and I wanted him to touch me and feel my arousal. His hand was warm as it slid down my abdomen and my breath caught in my throat as he touched me. I broke the kiss, trying to remember how to breathe and his hand tightened on me, moving up and down. It felt incredible, better than I could have ever dreamed. His lips found my neck, but my shirt prevented him from kissing any lower. Without a second thought, I tugged my shirt off, eager to feel his lips and hands all over my bare skin.

It had been so long, and what he was doing felt so good that I was already close to my release. He seemed to sense as much and slowed down. When his hands started to push my pants down, I didn't hesitate and we quickly started to undress. I helped him out of his trousers before we fell onto my cot with him on top of me. I kissed him, my tongue seeking out the inside of his mouth as I ran my hands along his back and shoulders, feeling the sharpness of his shoulder blades, the line of his spine, and the firmness of his body.

He took hold of me again, pressing our genitals together. Then he was asking to taste me. I knew exactly what he meant and I wanted that more than I wanted to breathe. His mouth on me was wondrous, and the pleasure he was giving me was far greater than anything I felt from Danny. This might have been Hawkeye's first time doing this to another man, but he could have fooled me. I knew from experience that I was unable to keep quiet and held my pillow over my mouth to muffle my sounds as he explored me very thoroughly.

I was getting closer and closer to my release and tried to warn Hawkeye that I was nearing my end, but he seemed eager to finish me inside his mouth and he made a noise in his throat that practically sent me over the edge. My head was spinning and I knew I was done. I pushed the pillow back over my mouth. He grabbed at my testicles, squeezing them, and I saw stars. I almost couldn't move from how good I felt, but then I felt him biting my hip and I came back down to earth, eager to do unto him…

I sat up, peering at him in the darkness, trying to convey what I wanted to do without words. I moved over him as he lay on his back, sitting astride him. I could feel his erection pressing up between my legs and I leaned down, to kiss him. I could taste myself on his tongue and felt a surge of something purely primal course through me. It was something I'd never felt before and I idly wondered if this is what had made Danny so aggressive during our encounters.

Hawkeye's eyes were closed as I kissed him and I maneuvered my legs so that they were now between his, making it easier for me to move down his body. I kissed along his jaw, enjoying the freshly shaven smoothness of his skin, and when I reached his neck I was overcome with the urge to bite him. He hissed, and his hand came up around my neck, holding me there. It excited me that he enjoyed that and emboldened me to do it again.

He yelped and I worried that I'd bitten too hard, but I was still energized by whatever energy had invaded me, and he swore it felt good. By the time I'd worked my way down the length of his body, I was eager to pleasure him. I took him into my hand, making yet another comparison of him and Danny—Hawkeye was bigger and had more girth to him—then took him into my mouth.

"Fuck, Dago…" He swore above me, making me blush. I wasn't exactly an expert at this, but I was experienced, and even though it had been some time since I'd last done this, it wasn't something that you tended to forget how to do. Hawkeye was moaning quite loudly and I feared that the nurses in the next tent, or anyone walking by outside, might overhear him. I looked up at him and saw my pillow was under his head, so I reached up and put my hand over his mouth to quiet him as I continued. He continued moaning against my hand and also bit into my palm.

With my other hand, I touched his testicles. Danny had had a habit of thrusting himself as far into my mouth as he possibly could, which ultimately resulted in me learning to control my gag reflex quite well. When I took Hawkeye in as deep as I could, and added in the bit he'd taught me tonight about vibrating vocal chords, I knew I'd done him in. His fingers twisted in my hair, pulling it somewhat painfully as he thrust roughly into my mouth. I did my best not to scrape his shaft with my teeth in the process, and his body went rigid beneath me, fluid leaking out of him and down the back of my throat. I swallowed reflexively, and waited until his grip on my hair loosened before I took my hand away from his mouth and moved up next to him.

He looked completely sated as he smiled up at me, and then he asked me to tell him about Danny. It was an unsung story for me, one that I'd lived but never spoken of before. Telling it to Hawkeye was bittersweet. But then he asked that question that had started this whole reverie… Why him? Why Danny?

I hadn't been able to answer him then because I didn't have an answer. I had avoided trying to understand my attraction on the chance I could ignore it and make it go away, but now I had to face it…I had to understand…

Hawkeye, Trapper, Duke and Spearchucker were already at breakfast the next morning when I arrived and got a tray and some coffee. I glanced in their direction, trying to gauge Hawkeye's reaction to me in the cold light of day and could see him smirking into his coffee cup. He gave me a wink that none of the others noticed then nodded to the empty space to his left.

" Dago, come join us."

The others looked up and mumbled a greeting as I sat next to Hawkeye. I bowed my head, saying grace, and felt Hawkeye press his leg against mine very discreetly under the table.

"You look at a little more rested today," Hawkeye noted with a knowing smirk.

I tried not to blush. "I was able to sleep better last night."

Trapper snorted. "You and Hawkeye both."

"Yeah," Duke piped up in agreement. "Hawkeye came in last night and wouldn't even tell us about the nurse he'd been with."

I glanced over at Hawkeye, who was still smirking into his coffee mug. I could feel my cheeks burning red hot. "Yes, well…I'm sure whoever it was would appreciate his nondisclosure in the matter."

"Yeah, but how are we going to know who to get with next time?" Trapper asked.

I choked on my coffee. Hawkeye threw his head back and laughed loudly, finding obvious enjoyment in this whole exchange. He clapped me hard on the back as I coughed, helping to dislodge the hot liquid from my windpipe. I cast him a meaningful glare as soon as I was able to take a breath but he just grinned widely at me.

The topic of conversation—mercifully—shifted, but Hawkeye's leg stayed pressed against mine throughout the duration of the meal. Finally, with my food gone and coffee finished, I had no real reason to stay other than being near Hawkeye, and I had duties I had to attend to. He was listening to Duke and Trapper arguing about something and I nudged him gently to get his attention.

"I've got to go," I told him softly, trying not to gain the attention of the others. "Come see me later when you've got a minute."

He nodded gently and I gathered my things. "See ya, fellas."

"Bye, Dago." The gang all said in unison.

I went to post-op from there to visit the patients, offer confessions, and generally lend a helping hand. After that I returned to my tent for camp confessions. A few people stopped by, but it was early afternoon before my Hawkeye-sense alerting me to his presence shortly before he knocked.

"Come in," I called, standing up.

He grinned at me as he pulled the door closed behind him and latched it. "Forgive me, Father," he said somewhat mockingly. "For I have sinned, and I'm about to do it again."

He reached out and hooked his finger into my belt loop, tugging me into a warm kiss. Our mouths opened simultaneously, tongues meeting. I sighed contentedly and slipped my arms around his waist and he moaned softly before he reluctantly pulled back.

"I've wanted to do that all day," he confessed.

"You have?" I still could hardly believe that Hawkeye was attracted to me.

"It's damn near all I've been able to think about." His hands slid around my own waist and we stood in each other's arms as he looked at me curiously. "Now, you wanted to see me?"

I nodded. "After you left last night, I started really thinking about what you asked me."

"What did I ask you?" He said, screwing up his face as he tried to remember.

"About why—"

"Oh, right! Why me, right?"

"Yes, and why Danny."

"Right, right." He nodded. "What'd you come up with?"

"Well," I pulled back out of his arms so that I could think clearly and he sat in the chair at my desk as he listened. "There's not a lot that you and Danny have in common, except that you're both very likeable and very confident individuals. You're the kind of person I wish I could be."

"You're a likable guy, Dago," Hawkeye said. "You're just quiet is all."

"Well, thank you, but I wouldn't really agree with you there. Hardly anyone remembers to even speak to me half the time."

"That's not because you're unlikeable, baby, that's just because no one knows what to say, you know? I think people are afraid they might offend you."

"Yes, I've thought that, too…but anyways, the point is that I find those qualities attractive in a person—I feel drawn to people like you and Danny. With Danny, he and I were friends for a long while before anything ever happened, but once it did, it became the primary part of our friendship. I think…well, I think he might have been in love with me in some way. After seminary he would write and talk about wanting to be together, and I got that sense that he was referencing a more…permanent relationship. Danny was a friend, probably one of my best friends, but I wasn't in love with him in that sense."

"Is that why things went south between you two?"

I sat on my cot with a sigh. "No. Like I told you, he followed me to chaplain school and we started to…you know…"

"Fool around."

I nodded. "But he was different. He had changed a lot since seminary, and so I had, but he seemed…dangerous to me. If I told him 'no' he would get violent or threaten me. He'd never been like that before."

"Did he ever hurt you?" Hawkeye asked sincerely.

"He tried," I admitted. "He was stronger than me, so I'm fairly certain if he really wanted to hurt me, he could have very easily. Most of what he did was just verbal taunts, which to me cut worse than anything physical he might have done."

"Gee, Dago…"

"Like I said, by that time it got easier for me to back off from him and once I was away from him I didn't have those feelings or urges anymore. Or at least I was able to ignore them until they faded into the background. When you came to camp, I liked you immediately, but not in a sexual sense. I would have liked to have been your friend from that first time we spoke, but you made it pretty clear that you wanted nothing to do with me."

"What? When was this? What did I say?" He looked genuinely confused and upset that I had gotten that impression from him.

"When I asked what your religious preference was. You told me you had no use for holy men." I said somewhat shakily.

"Oh, babe…I didn't mean it like that. I'm really sorry if you thought… I only meant that praying for me or talking to me about God would be pointless and a waste of your time because I don't believe in God." He laughed softly before adding, "I always thought you looked down on us Swamp rats."

"Oh no!" I was shaking my head vigorously. "No, not at all. I admired you all and wanted to be a part of your gang, but I don't fit in with you guys."

"I think you fit in just fine. Duke and Trap might not warm up to the idea for a while because Duke has a thing against Catholics in general and he said you make him feel like he's always got to be on his best behavior, but I don't necessarily think that's a bad thing."

I smiled softly at that, glad that Hawkeye had never intended to shun me or hurt my feelings.

"So, if you didn't like me in that way when we first met…when did you first start to?"

"Well…it happened very suddenly, you see. It was the way you touched me. I just felt those feelings of desire."

"When?" He pressed curiously.

"When I came to you about Walt Waldowski a few weeks ago."

Hawkeye was obviously trying to remember the encounter. "How did I touch you in a way that made you want me?"

I was blushing furiously. "You…um…ran your fingers through my hair. I know at the time you were just trying to make me feel better and that there wasn't anything sexual about it, but…"

"You like that, do you?" He was smirking at me.

"Well…yes….it feels nice." I swallowed as I continued. "The only problem is that, before when this had happened with Danny, I didn't really care who I was doing these things with, but what I felt for you was more because it was you. Does that make sense?"

"So if it had been Trapper or someone else, you might not have…"

"No, I don't think I would have."

"What made me so special?"

"I haven't figured that out just yet," I said with a nervous laugh. "I mean, I know I liked you as a person and wanted to be your friend, but…well, I just really don't know."

"I guess that's me as well," Hawkeye said, getting up from my chair and coming to sit next to me on the cot. "I don't know why, or when really, but I just started to notice things about you and I was thinking about you all the time. I think…yeah, I think it started after you came to me about Painless."

He looked at me curiously.

"Why did you come to me about Painless?"

"I had to do something to help him. I couldn't let him kill himself without someone else knowing what was going on, but being that he told me everything in confession, I didn't know who to tell, or how, and I didn't want him hating me and killing himself, you know?"

"But why me out of everyone here? You could have gone to Henry."

"I thought about it, but it didn't feel right. I knew he needed someone to trust, a friend, and the only person who came to mind was you. It felt like the right thing to do."

Hawkeye wrapped his arms around me and laid back on my cot, pulling me along with him so that I was laying next to him on my side, with my head on his shoulder. "I don't envy you your job, Dago. I can't believe after all you've seen here in Korea you still believe in God…"

I looked up at him, "God isn't responsible for the wars of man, Hawkeye. We live in an imperfect world where people resort to violence over their beliefs. God hates this war as much as the rest of us, but he has to allow it to happen. If there is no evil in this world, no war or famine, how are any of us supposed to know what is good? You have to have darkness in order to see the light."

Hawkeye bent his head and kissed me. "I think you're my light in all of this darkness."

I didn't know what to say to that so I simply kissed him.

"Attention: All personnel," the loudspeaker sounded outside in the compound and both Hawkeye and I groaned, knowing what was coming next. We were both already half out of the cot before the voice continued, "Incoming wounded. Choppers and ambulances."

I was reaching for the tools of my trade when Hawkeye spun on his heel, his hands reaching up to hold my face as he brought his lips in for a quick, but passionate kiss. There were no promises of when we'd next see each other, because neither of us knew when that would be, but it was certainly nice to share in that final kiss before we went to our do our duties.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkey's POV.

"Clamp."

"Clamp." Becky echoed as she snapped the instrument into my hand. "I had a great time last night, Hawkeye."

"Did you?" Though her voice was low, I found myself glancing around to make sure Dago wasn't in the vicinity.

"I thought maybe if you're not busy later, we could—"

"Shit." I muttered as blood continued to pool into the kid's abdomen on my table. "I've got another bleeder somewhere. I'm sorry, honey, but can we talk about this later?" Like never, I wanted to add.

Becky had been great, and I really wouldn't mind a repeat performance, but I had tasted forbidden fruit and it was all I wanted to eat for a while. It still blew my mind that I could be surrounded by 40 good looking women and I was choosing a priest over all of them. Painless' talk of Don Juan-ism being a cover for latent homosexuality was starting to echo through my mind, but it wasn't like I was checking out every guy in camp. I still wanted women, I just wanted Dago more at the moment.

I still couldn't believe everything that had happened in the last 24 hours, but it had shifted the way I saw him. I'd always thought him to be a little naïve, but I realized that his aloofness was intentional. Dago was actually quite intelligent and even funny, and I truly enjoyed being around him. Sure, he lacked confidence in himself and he was very shy, but a little more time around me and the boys was sure to help loosen him up. I wished I could tell the guys about Dago's past, knowing that they—or at least Trapper—would find Dago much more approachable knowing he was just as much a sinner as the rest of us, but I wasn't going to betray him like that. He trusted me with his secret, and I would take it to my grave.

"Dago, I need one of your fixes over here!" I heard Duke yell from the other side of the room and looked up to see his kid seizing on the table, probably a reaction to the blood transfusion. Dago was at Duke's side in an instant, leaning over as he did whatever it is he does. Whether or not you believe in God is one thing, but Dago could perform miracles with his prayers. He could pull guys through that we'd given up on. I didn't accept that it was God saving them, God wasn't the one sweating down here with the rest of us.

I dragged my eyes away from Dago and Duke and refocused on my own bleeding kid. I managed to clamp off the second bleeder and got to work in patching him up. Often times being in surgery made me feel like an assembly line worker. There was never enough time to really do your best work on a patient. If an arm or leg was busted up, you couldn't spend time trying to save it, you just had to cut it off. I hated every minute of being here. I hadn't been kidding earlier when I told Dago he was my light in the darkness. I wasn't trying to be cute when I'd said it. I'd meant it. Being with him made me forget about all about this place, however briefly. Neither of us understood the attraction we shared, but it didn't matter to me. Just knowing we felt the same way was enough to satisfy me.

"You doin' okay, Hawkeye?" His voice startled me out of my reverie and I looked up to see him looking at me intently.

"Yeah, I'm okay, Dago. How's Duke's kid?"

"Stable," he said, casting a look towards the kid he'd been praying over.

"Add another tally to your saves." I told him.

Though his mouth was covered by his surgical mask, his eyes crinkled slightly and I could tell he was smiling. He went on to check on the others and I finished up with the guy I was on and called for the next.

While we were in surgery with the first round of casualties, another batch of soldiers came through, stacking up in pre-op and waiting outside. Post-op had become standing room only and Radar had been on the horn trying to get transport vehicles for the patients who had been here several days and were well enough to be transferred out.

"How long have we been in here?" I grumbled as I dug into a new patient in the never-ending line of casualties.

"Sixteen hours and counting," came Trapper's tired reply.

"Henry, call Eisenhower, tell him I quit." I was only half kidding. Part of me was ready to go AWOL, but I knew I'd be in Leavenworth busting rock before I even had time to enjoy a single day of freedom.

"This is the last one," Dago's voice said as he helped a corpsman carry in a body and set it in front of Duke.

"Thank, God," Duke said.

"I already have." Dago replied.

Radar came in shortly after that to inform us that the enemy had pulled back and we wouldn't be expecting more casualties for a while, but 'a while' in war-times could mean five days or five minutes, so no one really rejoiced in that news.

I finished my patient, sent him off to post-op, then went to assist Duke while everyone else finished up around us. Duke's kid was bad off and we debated what to do. Dago was hovering nearby in case we needed him and I realized that everyone but the three of us, the nurse and Ugly John had left the OR. How swell of them…

"I don't know, Hawk," Duke said as he poked around the grievous wound. "This is bad…this is real bad."

"Where's the biggest problem?" I said, as I looked with him.

"Fuck if I know yet. Sorry, Red," Duke added belated, apologizing to Dago for his language.

We quickly began to start working on the kid, just starting with whatever we ran across first and hoping we'd be able to save him. We didn't even have to ask Dago to help us, he was already at the kid's head, leaning over, murmuring gently.

"I've lost his pulse," Ugly John said. We all looked at him incredulously. With his chest cut open, there was no way to do CPR.

"Bag him!" I shouted as I reached my hand inside the kid's chest and grabbed his heart with my hand, trying to force the life back into it. "Come on, kid, I haven't lost one all day, don't break my streak."

Duke continued to work, knowing that until the bleeding was under control that the kid would continue to go into cardiac arrest, but he was overwhelmed by the trauma and I needed to be in there helping him. I looked up at Dago, not wanting to do this to him again, but I had no choice.

"Baby, I need you to take over what I'm doing."

Dago's eyes went wide and he was shaking his head, stepping back away from the table. "No. No, no, no, no, no…"

"Dago…John…please." I could feel Duke and Ugly John both look at me strangely as I used Dago's given name, but it worked. Dago closed his eyes for a moment, then stepped back to the table. There was no time for gloves this time. I took his hand and guided it between the spread ribcage, wrapping his hand around the kid's heart and showing him just how often and just how hard to pump the organ. He closed his eyes as he took over and I resumed working with Duke.

"I'm getting a pulse," Ugly John said after a few minutes. "It's weak, but there."

"Stop pumping, Dago, but keep your hand there for a minute." We waited a few beats as we continued to work. "U.J.?"

"Still weak, but it's there."

"How long do you think he had no pulse?" I asked, not having bothered with looking at the clock, but knowing that if his brain hadn't gotten enough blood, it could have caused irreparable damage.

"Six minutes," Dago said weakly beside me. I glanced over at him, noticing his eyes were still closed. He was sweaty and pale. He must have been keeping time in his mind to keep from thinking about what he was doing.

"Suction," Duke told the nurse.

The surgery lasted an hour in total, and though the kid's pulse remained weak, he didn't go back into cardiac arrest and by the time we had fixed everything we could, his pulse was strong and steady again. With luck, he'd pull through and be alright.

Duke called for the corpsmen to come take the kid to post-op and we both peeled off our gloves, dropping them on the floor. I looked over at Dago, who had stayed the entire time, his hands and part of his uniform were covered in blood. His eyes were fixed on the empty table.

"You okay, Dago?" It was Duke who asked.

Dago's eyes snapped up at the sound of his name and he looked at Duke for a long moment as if trying to remember who he was before he nodded weakly.

"We couldn't have done that without you." Duke said sincerely.

Dago just nodded again and I laid my hand on his shoulder gently. "I'm sorry for making you do that…again."

Dago didn't look at me, but he nodded and leaned slightly into my touch. I was worried by his refusal to speak.

"Say something, babe."

He did look at me then, and I could see the storm clouds in his eyes. It was the same look he'd had a few days ago when I'd made him dig shrapnel out of a guy's gut. I'd traumatized him again. I wanted to hug him and kiss him right then and there, but Duke and Ugly John were still standing with us.

Without saying anything, Dago moved away from me and headed for the scrub room, pulling the mask off his face as he went.

"Shit, Hawkeye," Ugly John swore. "I've never seen a priest give anyone a 'go to Hell' look until now."

The words felt like a punch to the stomach and I wondered how much truth there was in them. Did Dago think I was doing this to him on purpose? Did he hate me for it?

We all filed out of the OR into the scrub room behind Dago, who was gripping the edge of the sink with his blood-covered hands. I couldn't see his face, but I could see him trembling and I knew he was crying. I ached. Ugly John and the nurse quietly pretended not to notice as they found another sink to wash up in, but Duke looked thoroughly uncomfortable. I didn't care anymore. I couldn't let Dago stand here alone in his misery.

"Come here, babe," I said gently, taking his elbow and pulling him away from the sink and into my arms, into what I hoped looked like a comforting embrace. I felt him tense as he was aware of the others in the room, but he quickly gave over to the comfort and cried into my shoulder.

Duke was torn between washing up as quickly as he could and watching us. I knew he was uncomfortable with the sight of Dago crying, and I had only added to his discomfort by hugging the chaplain. I kept my arms around Dago's shoulders, and I could feel him fisting the front of my shirt tightly. Finally, his cries slowed and quieted. I could hear him hiccuping a little he tried to stop crying all together. I didn't ease up on my embrace.

"I think I cried for a week when I first got here," Duke said awkwardly.

Dago lifted his head from my shoulder, sniffling and trying to find somewhere clean on his uniform to wipe his eyes and nose. I pulled off my scrub top, turning it inside out and offered it to him.

"Thanks," he said brokenly as he wiped his face and blew his nose into it. "I'm sorry for that…"

"Don't be sorry," I told him as I forced myself to step over to the sink to wash up. "We all have a breaking point."

"Are you okay now?" Duke asked.

"I think so," I heard Dago say as my back was to him.

"You did real good in there, Red…really."

"Thanks, Duke."

"If you want to come by for cocktail hour, you could probably use a drink more than the rest of us."

I was surprised, but pleased, by Duke's invitation. Maybe Dago's little break down had helped Duke to see that he was human like the rest of us. I had hopes that this would be the start of the guy's acceptance of Dago's presence around us.

"I think you're right." Dago said by way of accepting the invite. Duke nodded and left us alone and Dago stepped up to the sink beside me and started to wash his hands. "I'm really sorry about that, Hawkeye."

"I told you, you don't have to be sorry," I glanced over at him. "I shouldn't have made you do that, I'm the one that's sorry."

"You didn't have any choice, he would have died."

I was glad he understood that at least. "Go change and then come over to the Swamp and we'll all get really drunk and try to forget that there's a little place called Korea where every day is a fresh new Hell."

"Amen to that." He muttered.

I had already downed two gin martinis by the time Dago came into the Swamp. Duke wordless stood and poured him a martini, dropping two olives in.

"To the man of the hour," Duke said raising his glass to Dago. "Dago Red, you're alright in my book. Even if you are Catholic."

We toasted Dago, who looked very surprised and touched. He sat on Frank's old bunk and tossed back the martini. We all raised our eyebrows at him, but Duke simply poured him another.

"You know, Dago," Trap said from his bunk. "I think we take you for granted. We're all desensitized to the mess we see in OR and we assume everyone else is too, especially you."

"You'd think I would be by now." Dago replied with a nervous laugh.

I watched Duke sit next to Dago with intrigue. "Hey, Dago…you ever gotten high?"

"Duke, leave him alone." I warned from my bunk, knowing where this was going.

"What? I'm just asking!" Duke said to me. "Smoking always helps me relax after a rough day."

"Well, I don't think that's really Dago's thing, babe." I laughed, not able to imagine Dago getting high off of cannabis.

"Yeah, I guess not," Duke said, then looked at Dago. "Do you mind if I light one up?"

"Uh…no, I guess not." Dago said, uncertainly. Duke clapped him on the back, then hopped up to find his stash. I moved from my bunk and took Duke's place next to Dago, leaning my shoulder against his.

"How you doin', babe?"

"I'm…okay." He said after a moment's hesitation. "I think I'll probably have some nightmares for a while, but I'll be alright."

"I'm here if you need me," I told him, trying to sound friendly for the other guys.

He met my eyes, holding them meaningfully for several seconds. "I know."

Duke lit up a joint and passed it to Trapper, who took a long drag before holding it in my direction. I could feel Dago's eyes on me as I reached across to take it from Trapper and took a drag, holding the fragrant smoke in for a long moment. Dago was watching with intrigue and I looked at him, raising my eyebrows and holding the joint towards him. He looked uncertain as he looked from the joint to me and back to the joint. I was surprised when he actually took it from my fingers and brought it up to his lips taking a very tentative drag on it and promptly coughing on the smoke.

The three of us laughed and I took the joint from his fingers. "Here, baby, like this…" I showed him how to take a real drag and hold it in and he took it back from me trying to mirror what I'd done. He didn't cough right away this time, but he couldn't hold it deep in his lungs like the rest of us learned how to do.

"Hey Hawk…" Trap said. I looked over at him to see him wiggling his eyebrows. "Do the thing."

"Yeah!" Duke said. "Do it."

'The thing' that Trapper was referring to was known as shotgun, when one person takes a drag on the joint and blows the smoke into another person's mouth. For some reason, it seemed to make the other person get high a little faster…probably because you were forcing both air and smoke into their lungs that was then immediately absorbed into the bloodstream. Dago was looking at me warily.

"Do you trust me?" I asked him.

He nodded softly. I motioned for Trapper to come over so that I could show Dago what I was going to do to him. Trapper came and knelt in front of me, his hands on my knees. I took a drag, held in the smoke, then formed a seal with our lips as I blew the smoke into Trapper's mouth. Trapper grinned, a little of the smoke escaping from between his teeth.

I saw Dago swallow hard as his eyes went from Trapper back to me. I smirked at him. "Ready?"

"Um…I…I don't know about this."

"Trust me, Dago," Trapper said, putting his hand on Dago's knee. "It's a rush."

Dago looked nervous but he looked back at me and nodded. I had a feeling that I could probably convince him to do just about anything I asked. I wasn't sure how I felt about that… I took a long drag, aware that I was about to basically kiss Dago in front of the other guys. I slid my hand to the back of his neck and pulled him to me. Our lips met and I blew the smoke down into his lungs. I could feel him trying not to cough into my mouth. Before I managed to blow all the smoke into his mouth, he pulled away, coughing.

Trapper and Duke laughed again and I gave the joint back to Duke, who was grinning at Dago. "You'll get used to it. You probably never smoked anything in your life have you?"

Dago shook his head, still coughing, and I nudged his martini glass towards his lips, urging him to take a drink, my hand resting on his back. He drank and finally stopped coughing.

"Better?" I grinned, starting to feel the effects of the marijuana.

"Yeah." He answered strangely. Apparently he was starting to feel the effects of whatever he'd managed to breathe in too.

Duke and Trapper snickered.

"Can't believe we're getting a priest high," Duke said.

"God made cannabis, right?" Trapper tried to reason. "If he didn't want it smoked, he wouldn't have made it such a powerful drug."

"I don't think…" Dago started to say, but stopped, obviously considering Trapper's logic seriously. I laughed and he looked at me with a sheepish smile.

The joint made it back around to me and I held it out again to Dago. Rather than take it from me, Dago leaned forward and parted his lips slightly and I held it up to his mouth, letting him take a drag. This time he didn't cough.

"There ya go, Red," Duke said. "Now you're getting it."

We drank and smoke until we were all high as a kite and sick on gin. Dago didn't say much, but he laughed at everything we said and did. He'd long since fallen over on the bunk and was laying on his side, looking at all of us with half-lidded eyes as we told stories and basically just sat there shooting the shit. The weed, alcohol, and 16 hour stint in the OR was finally catching up to him and his eyelids kept getting heavier and heavier until he was finally passed out. I shushed Trapper and Duke and told them to keep it down and they sniggered. I grabbed a blanket from the end of my bed and draped it over Dago.

"Poor guy," Trapper chuckled. "You really made him pump a guy's heart with his bare hand? That's just cruel, Hawkeye."

"We should do something real nice for Dago," Duke said from his bunk. "I never realized just how much he does for us, but today…man, seeing him break down like that…I guess it all kind of hit me. He really is a good guy."

"Finest kind," I said fondly, watching Dago sleep soundly.

The three of us passed out soon thereafter and we all slept on through the rest of the morning and well into the afternoon. I woke up when Spearchucker came in and fell into his bunk. I wondered where he'd been, but figured he must have drawn duty in Post-Op after OR. I looked at Trapper and Duke who were both snoring softly, then at Dago who was blinking his eyes open, completely disoriented. I could tell by the look on his face that he was hung-over and felt like shit. I got up and went over to him, sitting on the edge of the bunk.

"Want to go back to your tent?" I whispered. He nodded gently and I helped him up before we both stumbled out of the swamp. The sun was shining brightly in the sky and he shaded his eyes with a groan.

"Remind me to never do that again," he muttered as we made our way to his tent.

I laughed softly, "I should have stopped you from drinking as much as you did."

"It's okay. I had fun."

"See what you've been missing?" I teased as I held open the door to his tent, following him inside.

"Oh yes," he deadpanned. "Glorious hangovers. How have I lived without this?"

I couldn't help but laugh as I pulled him to me and kissed him long and slow. He tasted of gin and stale marijuana smoke. His hand slid from my chest down over my crotch, rubbing me through my trousers.

"Stay with me," he whispered. I was hard the instant he touched me, there was no way I was leaving. I turned and latched the door with one hand, holding onto him with the other, and then we were on each other again. We fumbled with each other's clothes as we kissed hungrily. As he pushed my trousers down, he dropped onto his knees on the floor and looked up at me as his hands traveled up the backs of my calves and around the front of my thighs. I looked down at him, brushing his hair back from his face and watched him take my cock into his mouth.

My head lulled back on my neck and I closed my eyes, "Jesus, John…that feels so good."

I loved the feel of his mouth on me. He knew exactly what to do to drive me crazy—the way his tongue swirled around the head and flicked the frenulum underneath, and the gentle intentional scrape of teeth down my shaft. He moved from my cock down to my balls, flicking his tongue along the seam in the middle before he pulled them into one hand and took them both in his mouth.

I moaned and thrust my hands into his hair as my knees buckled slightly. Not even my wife had ever done that before. I could feel the scrape of stubble on his face against my leg, and I liked it. I liked everything about Dago. Everything. And that frightened me a little. I shouldn't like him as much as I did because this thing between us was temporary. Maybe it would last until the end of the war, maybe it wouldn't, but either way I knew I was in deep…real deep. I wasn't ready to call it love but whatever this was it was dangerously close to that.

When he took me back in his mouth and did that same deep-throating hummer, I was gone. Who knew I'd have such little control over my orgasms with him? I wondered how he managed to take me so deep without gagging…didn't he have a gag reflex? Maybe not. I grinned as I came down the back of his throat.

Dago wiped his mouth on the back of his hand as he looked up at me and I suddenly wanted to fuck him. I knew that was his line in the sand, though. I wrapped my hand around his dog tags and pulled gently, urging him to his feet again and dragging him into a fierce kiss. I wanted to taste myself on his tongue.

My hand slid down his body and wrapped around his cock, stroking furiously as I bruised his lips with mine. He made a pained noise and pulled back a little, dropping his hand to mine to still it. The friction of my hand was chaffing him. I grinned sheepishly at him, then dropped to my knees just as he had. I kissed his stomach and he took my glasses off. I looked up at him curiously.

"They hide your eyes," he told me softly, a hand running through my hair as he reached back and put my glasses on his desk. I took him in my mouth then, wetting his cock with my spit. He sighed softly, a sound of bliss, then whispered, "Oh, Hawkeye…"

I didn't like my real name much—I didn't appreciate being named after one of our founding fathers—and I generally never let anyone get away with calling me any variation of the name, but for some stupid reason, I wanted to hear Dago say my name. I pulled back slowly and looked up at him. He opened his eyes and looked down at me.

"You can call me Ben…if you want." I told him. "Just…not in front of anyone else."

He smiled gently and brushed my hair off my forehead. "Alright…Ben."

I couldn't help but smile, staring up at him for a long moment before I resumed sucking him off. When he came, he gripped my shoulders and whispered my name like a prayer. I swallowed without a second thought this time, getting to my feet as I crushed him against me in a fierce hug. He seemed a little surprised, and even I wasn't really sure why I was hugging him so tightly, but I didn't care.

I pulled Dago to his bed and we laid together, not tired, but just enjoying a moment alone. His head was on my shoulder and I stroked his hair. His hand was drawing lazy patterns across my chest.

"Dago…"

"Hmm?"

"What else can we do together besides suck each other's cocks?"

His hand stilled and he craned his head up to look at my face.

"I just mean…is there other stuff you liked doing with Danny that you would…you know…like to do with me? Or…I dunno…something he didn't do that you'd like me to do?"

He thought for a long minute, his hand resuming making random patterns on my chest. "Danny enjoyed being very rough…I enjoy that you're not. There are some other things that we could do…if you want."

"Like what?"

He moved on top on me, straddling me and pressing our cocks together as he slowly rocked his hips against mine. I groaned and grabbed his hips.

"Yeah…yeah I like that." I nodded. He laughed softly above me, leaning in to kiss my lips. When he pulled away, I asked, "What else you got?"

Dago held my eyes for a long moment and I could see the war raging inside of him. I knew what he was thinking. As much as I wanted to, I didn't want him to feel like he had to.

"Baby, we don't have to do that if you don't want to."

"I know," he said softly. "But I do…I mean…with you I do."

"But…what about your…you know…your vows."

Dago closed his eyes. "I've already broken them, Hawkeye. I know what we're doing is wrong, but I…I can't stop. I don't want to stop. I want to do the things I used to do with Danny. I want to know what it's like with someone I—"

He stopped then, his eyes going wide. We stared at each other for several moments. I knew what he was going to say. I knew he was about to say the word love. It had obviously shocked him as much as it shocked me. He moved off of me, standing up and pulling on his clothes. I turned on my side and watched him, trying to absorb this new knowledge and figure out how I felt about the fact that he loved me. I could feel only a sense of wonder and happiness. Not half an hour ago I hadn't been willing to say that I loved Dago, but now…now it seemed okay in some way. Maybe it's because I knew I wasn't alone in this queer—no pun intended—feeling.

Dago's back was to me as I stood up and took his shoulders, pressing myself against his back. He had gotten his pants on, but nothing else and I pressed a kiss to his shoulder, before wrapping my arms around his stomach and resting my chin on the same shoulder.

"I think we have a small problem, babe," I said softly, rocking us gently from side to side. "Because as hard as I tried not to, I think I've fallen for you."

"What do we do now?" His voice was a whisper, his hands clasped tightly over mine.

"Well, I think we keep doin' whatever feels right and not worry about the future."

"But—"

"No buts," I cut him off. I still didn't want to think about what happened once the war ended and we went our separate ways. I didn't want to think about whether or not I would miss him or how I'd feel about going home to my wife. I just wanted to be with him and enjoy the time we had.

He sighed, but conceded with a nod.

As we dressed, I could feel him thinking. "Dago, I can hear the wheels turning in your head."

He laughed softly. "Sorry."

"What are you thinking about?"

"It's nothing really." He was a terrible liar. I gave him a knowing look and saw him blush. "I just was…um…do you think you'll still fool around with the nurses?"

"I don't know," I answered honestly. "I'd rather just fool around with you, but if I don't at least pretend to chase some of the girls, word's going to get out that something's up."

"I understand." He didn't sound angry or upset, but I still felt a little guilty. I think his Catholic guilt was rubbing off on me. I pulled on my jacket, found my glasses, then turned to him. We moved into each other's arms simultaneously, lips meeting tenderly.

"I wish we didn't have to sneak around," I told him.

"There's no alternative," he replied. He was right of course, but I still wished I didn't have to be careful when we weren't alone.

Trapper and Duke were waking up when I got back to the Swamp, looking less hung-over than Dago had, but still pretty rough.

"That was a hell of a night," Trapper said.

"Where'd Dago go?" Duke said, noticing the vacant bunk.

"Back to his tent. He's pretty hung-over." I answered.

Duke was chuckling ruefully. "I can't believe we got him so fucked up. I can't believe he let us."

"I told you Dago's not a drag to be around," I smirked.

"You know you basically gave him his first kiss last night right?" Duke teased.

I wanted to tell him he was wrong, but instead, I played along. "Hope he enjoyed it."

"Was it weird? Kissing him, I mean?" Duke asked.

"I didn't kiss him, Duke, I shotgunned him. The three of us have done it a hundred times. I certainly haven't kissed either of you."

"Well, it's not like Dago knew the difference."

"Trust me, he knows the difference." I slipped. I busied myself with the still to avoid their gazes.

"What do you mean 'he knows the difference?'" Trapper asked with intrigue.

"I just mean there's a lot you guys don't know about Dago." This was going to land me in a world of shit.

"So, the Saint of the 4077th has a past, does he?" Duke asked, rubbing his hands together greedily.

"Duke…shut up. We all have a past. It's not like he was born a priest."

"Well how come you know so much about him? Why didn't he tell us?" Trapper demanded.

"Look, you guys, he told me in confidence, alright? Don't go pestering him about it either."

"You and Dago have been gettin' kind of close," Duke said suspiciously. "Are you trying to replace us, Hawk?

"Am I not allowed to have other friends?"

He shrugged. "Just seems weird you'd pick Dago Red as a friend, is all. Him being a priest."

"So what?"

"So nothing, it's just weird, okay? I mean, yeah, he was cool to hang out with and all and he's a good guy, but…"

"I know, it's 'weird.'" I finished for him. "Look, baby, I don't know why I want to be friends with him either, but we get along just fine and he could use some friends, so why not us?"

"Yeah, I guess. As long as he doesn't get all preachy."

I rolled my eyes but didn't say anything and the topic finally shifted off of Dago.

When supper came, Trapper and I went to the mess tent alone as Duke had pulled post-op duty and Spearchucker was still KO'ed in his bunk. Dago was sitting in his usual spot, talking with one of the newer nurses. Or rather, she was talking and he was doing what he does best—listening.

Trapper sat directly across from Dago and I sat on his other side. Dago gave us both a nod, but continued listening to the nurse on his left. I could tell by Trapper's face that he was mulling over our earlier conversation. Oh, please Trap…please don't do what I think you're about to…

"Hey, Dago," he said, interrupting the nurse. Both pairs of eyes looked over.

Shit…Shit… Shit. I was shaking my head vigorously at Trapper, who ignored me thoroughly.

"You ever kissed a girl?"

Oh fuck. I hoped to whatever God he believed in that Dago would say yes. I wanted to stop time and tell him that they knew he'd kissed somebody before. Dago's face flushed and he cast a wary look at the nurse next to him.

"That's not really a topic I feel is appropriate at the moment, Trapper." Dago said easily. I almost sighed in relief out loud. Dago returned to his conversation, but Trapper wasn't going to be swayed.

"Hawkeye tells us you're not as innocent as you let us all think."

Dago's eyes flashed angrily over at me and I wanted to shrink.

"I'll talk to you later, Father," the nurse said uncomfortably as she got up to leave.

"Did he?" The ire in his voice made me tremble. He was talking to Trapper, but he was looking at me. There was rage and hurt burning in his eyes.

"He implied that there are some things about you we don't know." Trapper continued. "Maybe things of the unholy variety."

"Goddamnit, Trapper!" I bellowed, slamming my fist on the table, and not caring that I'd just used Dago's lord's name in vain. "What part of 'don't pester him' did you not understand?"

He merely shrugged.

Dago was looking at me coldly. "I see now that I really can't trust anyone in this camp."

"Dago…" he started to get up and I grabbed his arm. "Dago! Wait."

Dago jerked his arm from my grasp. "What I said, I said in confidence, Hawkeye. You promised me you wouldn't tell anyone."

"And I didn't! They're just trying to weasel it out of you."

We both became aware that most of the personnel in the mess tent was watching us with rapt interest. Dago looked around and I could tell he was humiliated. He clamored over the bench, eager to escape.

"Dago!" I called, but he didn't stop as he barreled out of the mess tent. I turned my angry gaze on Trapper. "What the fuck is the matter with you!"

"How was I supposed to know he'd be so sensitive about it?"

I wanted to punch Trapper and I wanted to go after Dago, but I did neither. I sat there, poking at my dinner, swallowing bites of it like I swallowing rocks. I didn't know how I was going to apologize to Dago, or even if he'd let me explain. He was pissed, plain and simple, and he had every right to be. Rumors would be flying all around about Dago's love affair, and I could only imagine what the story would become.

After dinner, I went to the shower, hoping Dago would be there, but knowing he wouldn't be. I debated going by his tent afterwards, but knew that would be a waste of time. I went by post-op to check on patients instead and was sought out by Radar.

"Hawkeye, Colonel Blake asked to see you. He said it's important."

"Can it wait?" I was in no mood to talk to Henry.

"Sorry, sir, he's in his office waiting for you."

I sighed and headed for Henry's office. He looked up at me as I entered.

"So, Father Mulcahy just dropped in not too long ago…"

Oh fuck…what now… "Yeah?"

"He requested a transfer."

"What?" I was certain I'd misheard what Henry said.

"He didn't say why, but said that he was sure you'd be glad to tell me."

"Goddamnit…" I pushed my glasses up and massaged the bridge of my nose. "Don't approve that transfer, Henry."

"I haven't, but you better fix whatever you did to him."

"I'm glad everyone's assuming that this is my fault."

"He certainly seems to think so."

"Don't worry, Henry, I'll straighten it out."

"See that you do, Pierce. I've got enough problems as it is."

I left Henry's office and stormed over to Dago's tent. I didn't bother knocking as I threw the door open and stormed in, startling him. He was at his desk, writing what appeared to be a letter.

"Get out." He said forebodingly.

"No." I told him firmly, latching the door behind me. He stood up and came towards me, reaching for the latch, but I caught his hand and pulled him to me. He tried to push me away.

"Let me go."

"No," I repeated, turning him around and pressing his back against the door. I felt his entire body tense, but he realized he was pinned and he stopped struggling.

"What do you want?"

"For you to listen to me." He looked away, making it obvious he had no interest in what I had to say. I grabbed his chin and forced him to meet my eyes. "Listen to me!"

"I don't need my eyes to hear you," he bit back, turning his head sharply away and dislodging his chin from my hand.

"I didn't tell them about Danny." I said. He stilled, but he was breathing heavily. "I didn't tell them anything, Dago. I swear it."

"Then why did Trapper say—"

"Because Trapper's a fucking idiot." I snapped, still angry at Trapper for not minding his own damn business. "Look, when I got back to the swamp, they were talking about everything that happened last night and Duke was teasing me about being your first kiss. The only thing I said—and I admit that I didn't mean to say it—is that you knew the difference between that and a kiss. They hounded me to tell them what I knew, but I told them that everyone has a past and yours was none of their business."

Dago sighed and pushed me back. This time I let him. "Well, thank you for not telling them, but…I think that…maybe it's best if we stop seeing each other."

"Why?" I demanded, getting angry with him now. For a guy whose job depended on his understanding and compassion, he certainly wasn't cutting me any slack.

"Because someone's eventually going to put two and two together, and…"

"And this is what you do." I seethed. "When it gets too complicated, you run away. You ran away from Danny, why wouldn't you run away from me too?"

He winced as if the words had caused him physical pain. "Don't…don't you vilify me in this, Hawkeye. I didn't run from Danny. He hurt me. I'm sorry you can't see the difference."

I knew the difference, I was just angry at everything and scared of losing Dago in this whole mess. "So what's your excuse with me then? Why'd you run to Henry and request a transfer?"

"You think I did that because of you?" He turned on me, exasperated. "You really are completely full of yourself, Hawkeye. I requested a transfer because the minute you put it into their heads that I have a less-than-wholesome past, I lost their respect as a moral authority. Do you think people will actually listen to me now?"

"What makes you think they did before?" I wanted to take the words back as soon as I said them.

Dago wilted and gave a sad little laugh. "I was wrong about you, Hawkeye. You and Danny are very much alike. You both have to tear me down to build yourselves up."

He brushed past me, unlatching his tent and pushed out the door, letting it slam shut. His last words stayed with me for several moments, adding to the rottenness I was feeling. I looked around his neatly kept tent forlornly, hoping I would think of a way to fix what I'd done. My eyes fell on the letter on his desk and I picked it up, looking over the neat script of his handwriting.

It was addressed to the military vicar's office and as I read the half-page note I realized it was a resignation letter. Dago hadn't just asked for a transfer, he planned to resign his entire commission and leave the war over this. Without hesitation I tore the letter in half, then in half again, not stopping until it was a little more than confetti in my hand. I dropped it back on his desk then fell into the chair with a sigh. There were several books on the shelf above his desk and I briefly scanned the titles—The Odyssey; Don Quixote; Cry, the Beloved Country; The Red Badge of Courage; and Robinson Crusoe. There was one book with a worn leather cover that had no title on the spine. I reached up and pulled it down, looking at the blank cover. I realized it was a journal. His journal.

I hesitated for a moment, feeling like I was holding the proverbial Holy Grail of his life. I flipped open the book to the first page and furrowed my brow. Strange symbols littered the page in his neat scrawl. I flipped through the pages, noticing that they were all written in symbols. Leave it to Dago to write his journal in a language no one could read. I wondered what language it was, if it was even something real. I didn't put it past him to have made something up in order to keep people from reading his darkest secrets. I flipped to the last entry in the book and wondered how long ago he'd written it. Was it about me? What did it say? I was fairly certain his next entry wouldn't be as nice as this one probably was.

I ran my finger across the symbols, almost expecting to feel them embossed on the page. I was impressed and awed that Dago could not only write in this language, but could obviously read and understand it as well. I wondered what other languages he spoke—Spanish, judging by the Don Quixote book, and Latin of course. He seemed to be a real intellectual, functioning higher than probably most everyone else I knew. I wish I'd taken the time to get to know him sooner… Now it seemed too late to redeem myself.

The door to the tent opened and Dago stopped in the doorway, surprised and annoyed that I was still there until he saw his journal in my hands.

"I see you've decided to rifle through my belongings while I was gone," he said coldly, then he saw the scrapes of paper that remained of his letter. "And destroy them…"

"What language is this, Dago?" I asked with genuine interest, holding up his journal and ignoring his accusation. He snatched it from my hand and clutched it to his chest.

"A dead one, much like this conversation. Please leave."

I sighed and stood. "Dago…John…I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. I was just…pissed off."

He looked at me with a hardened expression but didn't say anything.

"When Henry told me you requested a transfer, I…well, I kind of freaked out. I don't want you to leave. Forget Trapper and Duke and everyone else, baby, this will all blow over and it won't affect how people see you. If anything, I think it'll help people relate to you better. No one has to know the specifics of your past, and no one will ever find out about us."

"You don't know that, Hawkeye."

"No, maybe I don't know for sure, but I don't want to lose what we've got…and I'm pretty sure you don't really want to either."

He looked down and away but I saw his chest rise and fall heavily.

"Please forgive me, John. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, I'm sorry for what I said, and I'm sorry Trapper's an asshole."

He laughed, very slightly. "I don't think you have any control over Trapper."

"That's the damn truth. If I did I would have shut him up right away."

He sighed and closed his eyes. "Please don't become like Danny, Hawkeye. I couldn't stand it if you did. Don't belittle me when you're angry."

I took a step towards him. "I promise I won't. I'm sorry I did."

"And if Trapper and Duke or anyone else ask about my past—"

"I promise not to say anything—"

"I was going to tell you just to lie." He interrupted, shutting me up. "I don't condone lying, but in this case I don't see much choice."

"What should I say?"

"I don't know…" He sighed, thinking. "Just tell them I had a girl who broke my heart and that's why I became a priest. I really don't care at this point."

I laid a hand on his shoulder tentatively, but he didn't move away. "And what about us?"

"I still think we shouldn't see each other," he said softly, his eyes closed for a moment before he looked at me. "But I still want to."

I pulled him to me and kissed him passionately. His arms wrapped around my neck, his journal still clutched in his hand. I held him against me tightly. "Do you forgive me?"

"Of course I do," he whispered.

I sighed in relief and squeezed him tighter. "I'm so sorry, Dago."

"I know." He pulled back from my arms with a heavy sigh. "Maybe we should tell Trapper and Duke that lie. Just so they won't start any other rumors. At least we can control this one to some extent."

I nodded, hating that he was going to have to lie to everyone. "I can tell them…if you want. That way you're not technically the one who's lying."

"You don't mind?"

"I've lied about worse things than this, Dago."

He nodded softly. "Alright…then maybe we should go over it, so if anyone asks, I'll at least be in the know."

"Still want to go with a girl broke your heart?"

"Why not? It doesn't really matter in the end, does it?"

"No I suppose it doesn't…" I took his hand and led him to his cot and we sat side by side as he thumbed the pages of his book in thought. "Think they'd believe I was ever engaged?"

"Why not, they don't know what to make of your past right now."

He nodded, and bit his thumb as he thought of a story. "Tell them I met a girl in college—before Seminary—named…"

"Helen," I supplied in his hesitation, looking up at his copy of The Odyssey.

He looked over at me questioningly and I shrugged. "Okay…Helen. We dated for a while and decided to get married, and then…before the wedding, she was killed. Hit by a car or something."

"Jesus, Dago…" I was surprised by his morbidity. "If you want to shut them up about your past, that'll certainly do it."

"Too much?"

"No…I think they'd buy it, sadly."

He nodded with a heavy sigh and I put my hand on his knee.

"Don't worry, babe, I'll take care of it."

"Thank you, Hawkeye."

I took the journal from his hands and flipped through the pages. "So what dead language is this? Can't be too dead if you know it."

"Ancient runes," he answered. "This particular rune set is Elder Futhark. There are 24 runes that each have a meaning…or represent a letter or series of letters."

"Can you teach me?"

He took the book and opened a random page, pointing to a random series of symbols. "The dots between a series of symbols represent a space that we would put between words. Two dots represent the end of a sentence. Normally runes are written down the page rather than left to right, but it's easier for me to follow my thoughts this way."

"So what does this say?"

Dago looked over at me curiously. "Do you want a challenge?"

I lifted my eyebrows. "A challenge?"

"I'll give you a key you can use to translate it yourself. As long as you don't lose the key I've no fear that anyone else would be able to read this."

"You'd let me read your entire journal?" I asked incredulously.

He shrugged, smirking a little. "If you don't give up first."

I accepted the challenge by taking the book from him. "Alright…give me a key."

Dago smiled and moved to his desk, taking out a fresh piece of paper and moving the scraps of the letter I'd torn up to the side. I decided I would ask him later about the resignation. I watched him write the runic symbols down the side of the page and the English letter transliteration next to it. After a minute, he handed it to me. I felt like a kid with a spy code and immediately set to work.

"You're going to do that now?" He asked incredulously.

"Sure…why not?"

He laughed softly but shook his head and picked up his pocket Bible. He sat back in his chair and kicked his feet up—boots and all—on the end of his cot as he began to flick through the pages. I laid on my side on his cot, propped up on my elbow as I slowly began working out the translation, trying to keep track of it all in my head as I went along.

I'd managed to get halfway down the page before I sighed, "Dago…I need a pen and paper."

He laughed but reached for both on his desk and passed it to me. "Did you get lost?"

"I'm halfway down the page and the only part of this that I've managed to keep coherent is that you were in Tibet."

He chuckled, "It'll get easier as you learn to recognize the symbols."

"How many languages do you speak?" I wondered aloud.

"Several." He answered. "English, obviously, Latin, Spanish, French, a little German, a little Chinese and Tibetan, very little Korean, and even a little Irish Gaelic."

"And Runes." I nodded to the page.

"Well, it's not really a spoken language as much as it's written, but I suppose in a sense I do 'speak' it." He cocked his head a little. "How about you, Hawkeye?"

"Just two: English and bad English."

He laughed but shook his head. "You're a doctor, you must know some Latin."

"Yeah, I guess a little Latin, though not as much as you. And I took French in high school, but I was only interested in the naughty words."

"I don't doubt that," he smirked.

"So you were really in Tibet?"

He nodded to the book in my hands. "Keep reading."

I'd gotten pretty far into the first entry in his journal when there was a knock on the door. Dago looked back to see that it wasn't latched before calling, "Come in."

A hand with a white handkerchief was thrust in through the door and I rolled my eyes.

"Come in, Trap."

The rest of Trapper came through the door a minute later, looking somewhat sheepish. "Hey, Hawk, I was lookin' for ya."

"You found me." I deadpanned, closing my notes in Dago's journal. "What'd you want?"

"Well…I guess I want to apologize to Dago. I'm sorry for stickin' my nose in your business at dinner."

"Apology accepted, Trapper," Dago said graciously.

"And we've got a fresh round of gin martinis about to be poured at the Swamp, as well as what I hope will be a very profitable poker game. Hawkeye, you in?"

I wanted to stay with Dago, wanted to keep reading his journal, but I had a lie to spread around, and I didn't want it to seem suspicious that I'd choose to read in the Chaplain's tent rather than booze and gamble and womanize. I had a reputation to uphold, after all. "Yeah, sure. Dago, do you mind if I hang onto this for a while?"

"Sure." He gave me a look to say 'don't lose it' and I nodded at him, ruffling his hair playfully before I followed Trap out.

"Is he still mad at us?" Trapper asked as we headed for the Swamp.

"No, not really. If you promise not to say anything else about it, I'll tell you what happened to him."

That piqued Trap's interest like I knew it would and he didn't even question me about the journal.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulcahy's POV.

When Hawkeye and Trapper left, I decided to turn in. I took a shower and managed to remember my mirror so that I could shave, then returned to my tent. I knew Hawkeye had purposely not invited me along so that he could dupe Trapper and Duke into believing the false past we had fabricated. I hoped Hawkeye was right and that it would shut them up all together, but I still felt guilty for lying.

I was somewhat nervous that Hawkeye had my journal …and the key…and a page of notes he had taken as he worked to translate it, but I had to trust that he would guard it with his life. I knew at the very least that my name wasn't on it and it would take both time and effort for anyone to try to translate it—neither of which was found in abundance at the 4077th—so I felt assured that it wouldn't easily be traced back to me.

I took one of my books off my shelf and laid in my bunk as I cracked it open, hoping to lull my mind to sleep with the adventures of Robinson Crusoe. I allowed myself a moment to briefly reflect on Hawkeye and the events of the evening…

I had been talking to Nurse June Grady, who was having a difficult time adjusting to the life of an army nurse, when Hawkeye and Trapper had sat with us. I always warned people that wanted to speak to me outside of my tent that I couldn't guarantee what they said would be confidential because I couldn't prevent eavesdroppers, but June had simply needed someone to talk to about her struggles, not confess.

Trapper's question had caught me completely off-guard, and I wasn't entirely sure why he'd asked such a thing. Being that I had been in the middle of a conversation, I didn't answer him either way, though I felt wholly unsettled.

"Hawkeye tells us you're not as innocent as you let us all think."

I felt my blood run cold in my veins as my head whipped back around. I could practically see Hawkeye shrink next to me. I couldn't fathom that Hawkeye might have betrayed me. The nagging thought that I was still one big joke to them seeped back into my consciousness. I couldn't breathe. I wanted to yell at him, I wanted to scream, I wanted to punch his lights out. He tried to tell me that he hadn't told them anything, but how could I believe him when Trapper was suggesting just the opposite?

I don't know what was more devastating to me—the fact that Hawkeye might have sold me out, or the fact that as he and I yelled at one another, practically the whole camp was witness. I knew that whatever reputation I had built for myself here was shattered. The rumor mill would start and gossip would spread like wildfire and I couldn't bear to think of what tawdry affair they might paint for me. I couldn't even know for sure if anyone but Hawkeye knew about Danny. Either way, it didn't matter…they would all see me as a hypocrite, and maybe I was. Any moral influence I had on these people had just gone right out the window.

I left the mess tent and went straight to Henry Blake. I had been thinking of a transfer since I'd developed feelings for Hawkeye, and I was convinced that I had to get out of there. I couldn't stand the thought of being a laughing stock to the entire camp, moreover I was completely crushed to think that Hawkeye had so cruelly betrayed me.

Henry was in his office—surprisingly—and Radar had followed me in, but I kindly asked him to leave.

"What's up, Dago?" Henry asked as he worked on his fishing lures.

"Sir, I'd like to request a transfer to another MASH unit." If he noticed the quaver of my voice, he didn't say anything.

He did, however, look up at me in surprise. "A transfer? Why? I know we don't always show up to your services on Sundays, but—"

"It's a personal reason, Colonel." I interrupted him.

"Would you care to tell me what kind of personal reason?"

"No…but I'm sure that if you really want to know, Captain Pierce will be more than happy to tell you." I hadn't meant to say the last part out loud, but my anger and hurt were getting the better of me.

Henry sighed in quiet exasperation, "What did Hawkeye do this time?"

I didn't answer him, mostly because I didn't want to incriminate myself any further. Henry looked at me closely, laying aside his lure.

"You're really serious about this, aren't you?"

I nodded, though hesitantly.

"I'll see what I can do," he told me with a sigh.

I nodded again and left, returning to my tent. I paced for several minutes as I tried to think of worst-case scenarios. My brain was not functioning properly; the only thing I could focus on was the anger and hurt I felt, and the self doubt. Part of me had known that something like this would happen. There had been a reason I'd never told anyone about Danny, and this was why. If the truth had ever gotten out, it would ruin me. How could I go on being a priest knowing the things I had done were the worst kinds of sins? What if it continued to happen?

I was sick with grief and guilt over my sins, but moreover I was in agony because I still deeply cared for Hawkeye. Despite what he'd done to me, I still loved him, still desired him. That thought was more disconcerting than the idea that the entire camp knew about Danny. I felt like God was continually giving me warnings that what I was doing was wrong, but I still couldn't control myself. I couldn't change the way I felt for him. As a representative of God, I knew this was unacceptable. There was only one thing to do—resign.

I sat down and started writing my resignation to the military vicar's office. As I put down on paper the fact that I felt unable to continue to perform my duties, my mind started to clear a little and I knew I was overreacting. Yes, I did feel hypocritical; yes, I knew that I probably should resign, but I also knew God was still working through me. Each boy I prayed over that made it was a sure sign of His grace, and each soul that departed quickly was a sign of His mercy. These weren't my miracles, I was just his tool on Earth. If I was such a sinner, if I was damned, why would he continue to heal through me? Why would he continue to speak through me in the words of my sermon?

My thoughts were interrupted as Hawkeye barged his way into my tent, but I had no desire to see him or speak to him at that moment.

"Get out."

"No."

I was outraged when he actually had to gall to latch the door of my tent. Who did he think he was! I got up, intent on unlatching the door and bodily removing him from my tent, but he was quicker than me and soon had me in his grasp.

"Let me go."

"No." he said again, spinning us both around and pinning me against the door. I briefly considered head butting him, but it wasn't in my nature to fight back against someone so I resigned to hear whatever it was he had to say.

"What do you want?"

"For you to listen to me."

I didn't want to look at him while he spoke, but he grabbed my chin and forced me to meet his eyes.

"Listen to me!" he said roughly, fingers digging into my jaw.

"I don't need my eyes to hear you!" I snapped back.

I listened as he explained to me what happened and that he hadn't told them about Danny, somehow not quite believing that he could have said nothing and yet Trapper would still press me as hard as he had earlier that evening. I could tell he was angry over the entire situation, and even angry with me for not believing him, but it did little to stop the nagging doubts in my head.

Even if my anger had dissipated a little, I still had strong convictions that it was time to cut my ties. This had been too close a call for me. As much as I didn't want to lose Hawkeye, I was in way over my head now and I felt like I was going to drown.

"Maybe it's best if we stop seeing each other," I said, trying to sound rational, but only managing to incense him further.

When he accused me of running away, I winced. His words had struck very close to home. Maybe he was right, maybe I was running, but I had good reason. I had been trying to escape a borderline abusive situation where Danny was concerned. I was hurt that he would use that against me at a time like this and try to make me the bad guy. When he mentioned the fact that I requested a transfer, saying that I was trying to run from him, I wanted to laugh at his arrogance, even if it was partially true.

"You really are completely full of yourself, Hawkeye. I requested a transfer because the minute you put it into their heads that I have a less-than-wholesome past, I lost their respect as a moral authority. Do you think people will actually listen to me now?"

"What makes you think they did before?"

There was a venom in his words that chilled me to the bone. I couldn't believe this was the same man who had been so caring and kindhearted the last few days. Once again I found myself looking into Danny's eyes instead of Hawkeye's, and was saddened by how quickly he could turn on me.

"I was wrong about you, Hawkeye. You and Danny are very much alike. You both have to tear me down to build yourselves up."

I had to get out of there. I knew I was either going to scream or cry or throw up and I didn't want to do any of those in front of him. There were so few places to be alone in the camp, and since Hawkeye refused to leave my tent, I had to opt for somewhere else. I went to the latrine.

Though not an entirely pleasant place to try and take a few deep breaths, I knew I needed to calm down and pull myself together. I leaned against the plywood wall, simply feeling my heart beat slow as I ticked off the collateral damage of the day on my fingers. One—I'd requested a transfer. Two—Most of the camp knew I had past, but didn't know what that past entailed. Three—Hawkeye and I were over.

The last one hurt the most. I stood there feeling stunned by the whirlwind relationship we'd had—the angst slowly building up between us, the sparks of passion, the quiet intimacy, and now the bitterness and rage and anger. I sadly wondered if Hawkeye hated me. The thought stole the rest of my anger and simply left me with a deep sense of loss.

I left the latrine and slowly walked back to my tent, my head hanging low in defeat. I just wanted to curl up and die and have done with this misery and heartache. When I opened the door and found him still in my tent, I was just annoyed. I felt he was taunting me now, hording his power over me by taking over my space and my belongings. He'd even torn up my letter of resignation.

"I see you've decided to rifle through my belongings while I was gone…And destroy them…" I could hear the edge in my own voice. I was still on the verge of breaking down despite my attempt to calm myself moments before.

"What language is this, Dago?" He was acting as if nothing had happened which felt worse than him yelling at me. I couldn't understand how he could have gone from being so angry and belittling me to destroying my things in my absence, to this… I just wanted him gone at that point.

I snatched the journal from his hands. "A dead one, much like this conversation. Please leave."

He apologized then, but I wasn't ready to hear it. His intense emotional swing had completely drained me. He tried to explain his feelings, saying that he didn't want me to leave and that no one was ever going to find out about my past…or us. It infuriated me that he could say that so assuredly when he had no control over that aspect.

He begged me to forgive him, and I completely caved. Forgiveness, after all, was in my job description, and if I couldn't forgive a man I loved…who could I forgive? I made him promise never to be hurtful to me again, knowing next time I wouldn't be able to handle it. I tried not to think about how many times Danny had made similar promises that he had broken.

In my heart I truly believe that people are inherently good. It's the bad things in life that affect us and shape us and make us cold, angry, bitter, hateful, and evil. Hawkeye was a good person, and his intense reaction had me wondering if something had happened in his own past. I wondered if there had been a time when he'd been abandoned by someone he cared about. I wanted to know what had made him who he was today. Why was he such a non-believer in God, why had he chosen to be a doctor, why was he was who he was?

I suddenly realized I was still holding Robinson Caruso, and had been reading the same page over and over as my mind mulled over Hawkeye. I sighed and closed the book, getting up to put it back on the shelf as I turned out my light. I closed my eyes and focused on my breath, envisioning a ball of light in my core that grew brighter with every intake and dimmer with every exhalation. My mind quieted, Hawkeye receding to the background, and I slowly drifted off to sleep .

I felt like only minutes had passed when a hand stroked my cheek and set of lips gently brushed mine. I started slightly, but immediately recognized Hawkeye's smell and taste and touch, and I relaxed.

"Can I stay with you for a while?" He asked softly.

"What time is it?"

"About 2am." He replied, whispering for whatever reason.

I turned on my side and pulled the blankets back, offering to let him slip in next to me and he quickly shed his boots, trousers and t-shirt before he rolled into the cot and slid his arm under my shoulder, bringing my head in against his chest. He kissed the top of my head and squeezed me tightly.

"How was the game?" I asked sleepily.

"I cleaned up," he answered, no longer whispering, but talking quietly. "And I told the boys about 'Helen.'"

"Great." I deadpanned, still not thrilled with the entire situation. "Who all was there to witness that wonderful fabrication?"

"Trap, Duke, 'chuck, U.J., Painless—"

I groaned and cut him off, "Okay, okay, maybe I should have asked who wasn't there."

"A few nurses, Radar, Henry, and you." I could hear his grin. "You have the sympathy of everyone in the camp. I really played up the pity card and made her death pretty tragic."

I groaned. "Do I even want to know?"

"I told them that the two of you were on your way somewhere together and were hit head-on by a gang of bank robbers who had just pulled a heist. You lived, but she didn't. She died in your arms."

"Hawkeye, that's really awful."

"See, even you feel bad for you," he laughed softly. "Anyways, after that you went on a bit of a bender and just when you were on the brink of suicide, God spoke to you and gave you a new path—the priesthood."

"That is certainly quite the tale." I wasn't sure how I felt about all the embellishments he'd made, but realized that the whole thing was a complete lie and Helen wasn't a real person, so in essence, no one was truly harmed. I still felt guilty about lying, but I couldn't do anything about it now.

"I'm sorry about this whole mess, John." He said sincerely. "I should have known Duke and Trapper wouldn't be able to control themselves. They're worse than women sometimes."

"It's okay, I don't blame you, Hawkeye…well, not anymore, at least."

"Were you really going to resign because of this, Dago?" His voice was soft and full of genuine concern.

"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "There was so much going on in my head after that happened and it seemed like I should resign. I still wonder if maybe I should. I feel so…torn."

"Why do you think you should?"

"Because I'm a hypocrite, Hawkeye. I can't stand up there and preach about obeying God's commandments when I have broken them."

"Dago," he sighed, "What are the commandments?"

I wondered why he was asking, but I quickly listed them off, "Thou shalt have no other gods before me. Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image. Thou shalt not take the name of the LORD thy God in vain. Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy. Honor thy father and thy mother. Thou shalt not kill. Thou shalt not commit adultery. Thou shalt not steal. Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is thy neighbor's."

"And which ones have you broken?"

"Adultery, lying, coveting…"

"Well, you have coveted my ass, but I really don't think that last one applies as much."

I sighed in annoyance and sat up, looking down at him. "Hawkeye, there are no grey areas when it comes to the Word of God. The commandments are sacred, they are meant to remain unbroken. I can forgive those who sin and repent, but I'm not repentant! An unrepentant priest might as well be working for Satan. Can't you see the problem?"

"Look, John, I get that your religion means a lot to you, but don't you think if this was really wrong you might feel bad enough to not do it anymore?"

"It's not that simple."

"It is that simple, Dago." He argued, sitting up and leveling his eyes at me. "Have you ever killed anyone?"

"NO!" I nearly shouted.

"Why not?"

"Because it's—"

"Wrong." He said with me. "Have you ever stolen anything?"

"No." I said simply.

"Because it's wrong." He reiterated. "You don't use the Lord's name in vain, you don't worship other Gods, you don't do anything else he's told you not to do."

"Except engage in sexual acts with another man." I muttered.

"Look," he sighed and took my hand in his. "When I was a kid, I went to church and even Sunday school a few times. The biggest message that I got was that God loves us, no matter what we do. Isn't that why Jesus died on the cross?"

"He died for our sins," I nodded.

"Sins past, present, and future, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, if this is a sin, then you're already forgiven, right?"

"Hawkeye…" I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. Trying to argue the semantics of the Bible with him was like trying to get an ox to learn English. "You can't just take the good bits of the Bible and smash them all together to make yourself feel better."

"Okay, Dago, let's take the Bible out of this. How do you feel about the situation. Do you think it's wrong?"

Separating my private thoughts from Biblical law was next to impossible for me to do and it took me several minutes to compose a response, but Hawkeye waited patiently. "No…if I take the Bible out of this, I don't feel this is wrong…other than the fact that you're married."

"Why do you feel it isn't wrong?"

I looked in his eyes, butterflies erupting in my stomach. "Because…because I love you."

"Why does that make this okay?" he asked very softly.

"I don't know." I truly didn't.

Hawkeye gently pulled me to him, kissing me deeply. "We're never going to see eye to eye on God, baby; so maybe the best thing we can do is just not think about this as being wrong. Do you—without putting the words of your Bible into it—do you think you'll be forgiven if this is a sin?"

Again, I hesitated with my answer as I truly considered it. I'd already had similar thoughts not but a few days ago…and every day since…and my answer had never changed. "Yes…I have to believe that He would show me mercy if this is wrong."

"Stop being so hard on yourself. I get that you're supposed to live by a certain creed, certain rules, but just because you love me doesn't negate everything you say. I think if God really does exist, he'd probably be very glad that you respect his word so much, but he'd tell you to stop worrying about it. No one's perfect, baby, not even you."

Hawkeye had a point and I didn't argue with him any further as I mulled this all over in my mind. Taking my silence as consent, Hawkeye drew me into another kiss and gently eased me back down on the cot, placing himself on top of me. His tongue slid smoothly into my mouth and I gently sucked on it as my hands trailed down his back, pushing his boxers down over the slope of his backside as I continued to caress him. He moaned softly into my mouth. He tasted of beer and smelled of cigarettes, a combination not totally unappealing. He shifted slightly reaching back to push his boxers down further and my hand immediately went to his erection, stroking him gently. He broke from my lips and kissed along my jaw before he nuzzled my ear with his nose.

"I want you, Dago…" he breathed heavily.

I shivered. I knew what he meant. I brought my hand up around the back of his neck and raised my lips to his ear, boldly saying, "I'm yours."

He kissed me fiercely. "Don't move."

Hawkeye rolled over and reached for his pants, digging through the pocket until he found what he was looking for and held up a small jar between his fingers, his teeth flashing at me through the darkness as he grinned.

"What's that?"

"Lubrication," he told me, sitting up on his knees and moving between my legs before he grabbed the legs of my boxers and pulled them down. I didn't know what to say to that. Danny had never used any lubrication other than his spit. I was surprised that Hawkeye had had the forethought to bring it with him. "I'm not an expert at this, baby…I've done rectal exams, but I have a feeling this won't exactly be the same thing, so you'll have to tell me what I should be doing.

I laughed anxiously as the butterflies came alive in my stomach again. Hawkeye slid the rest of the way out of his own boxers and he looked at me somewhat uncertainly.

"I can turn over…if you want." I offered gently.

"No," he shook his head. "I want to be able to look at you when I fuck you."

I blushed at his choice of words, and the sentimentality behind them. I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. He pushed my knees up and apart as he opened the jar and lubricated two of his fingers. I could feel goosebumps erupting down the length of my body. He looked in my eyes as his fingers found their way to the penetration point, then slowly but steadily, he entered me. I gasped in both pleasure and pain. It had been so long since this had happened and my body tensed against the intrusion. Hawkeye leaned down on top of me, distracting me with his lips and tongue as he slowly loosened me up. His fingers were pulsing in and out, brushing against that part of me that produced the greatest pleasure and soon as I panting and moving against his hand.

"Ready?" He asked against my ear.

"Yeah," I breathed.

Hawkeye slowly withdrew his fingers, finding the jar of lubrication and spreading a small amount along his shaft and over the head before he wiped his hand on the hem of my t-shirt that I still had on.

"Hawkeye!" I chastised, somewhat disgusted. He laughed softly, but then pressed himself into me swiftly and we both groaned in satisfaction. I rocked up against him, but he put his hand on my hip to still me.

"Wait, wait, wait…" he said tensely, gritting his teeth. I ran my hands down his arms, feeling how tense he was and realized he was trying not to cum. "Oh…fuck, Dago…you feel so fucking good."

His swearing made me blush again, but I couldn't help but smile. He finally gave a tentative thrust and I groaned along with him again. When he finally was able to move more easily, he found a gentle rhythm and I moved against him, eager to meet each thrust. I closed my eyes, biting my lip against the noises I wanted to make, knowing that I definitely couldn't control my volume.

"Am I hurting you?" Hawkeye asked gently as he brushed his thumb across my mouth, trying to get me to release my lip.

"Oh, fuck no…" The words tumbled from my mouth before I even registered what I'd said.

My swear surprised us both and he laughed softly as I turned a deep shade of crimson, stuttering an apology. "You really think you have to apologize to me for that? I'll take your 'fuck' as a huge compliment."

"I'm not in the habit of swearing," I told him sheepishly.

"I noticed," he chortled, leaning down to kiss me. "Should I be doing anything for you?"

"No," I breathed, enjoying his thrusts. "Trust me…I can finish just like this."

"What's it feel like?" he asked, looking into my eyes as he thrust a little deeper into me.

I groaned, my eyes closing in response to the pleasure, "Amazing…"

"Was it like this with Danny?"

I was sincerely surprised that he was asking me that particular question at a time like this, but I shook my head. "It felt good with Danny, but like I said, he was very aggressive and rough so I typically had to ignore the pain and focus on the pleasure. With you, I don't feel any pain."

"Good," he murmured, dropping his lips to my neck. "God I wish I could last forever, Dago…you don't know how good this feels. You're so tight on my cock."

"You feel good too, Hawkeye." I wrapped my arms around him, holding him to me tightly.

"Say my name," he whispered against my collarbone.

I closed my eyes and smiled, "Ben…"

"How close are you?"

"I'm not sure…?" I didn't know how to gauge the progress of an orgasm, I just knew it felt good up until it peaked into incredible. "Go harder and deeper…that'll get me there quickly."

"When I cum, where should I…" he left the sentence hanging, but the meaning was understood.

I dragged his lips to mine, giving him a long, slow kiss before I answered. "Inside of me."

I felt him tremble slightly before he reclaimed my lips more passionately and his thrusts became harder, faster, deeper. I moaned into his mouth repeatedly until I had to pull back for air, then buried my face against his shoulder trying to muffle my enjoyment there. He was breathing heavily, panting against my neck. I could feel the sweat from his exertion as it rolled down his face and against my skin.

"John…" he groaned, his body taut. "Oh, fuck, I'm so close."

"Ben," I whispered against him, emboldened by his intense pleasure. "I want to feel you cum…"

He gave several great thrusts before he cried out, silencing himself against my mouth, his body growing rigid. I could feel his cock pumping inside of me as he came and I moved against him, letting it carry me to my own peak. My cock was pressed between our bodies; I could feel my release jet against his stomach and soak the bottom of my t-shirt, covering both of us in the sticky secretion. Hawkeye didn't seem to notice or care, but he was trembling slightly as he came off his high, laying over me heavily for a long minute before he was able to withdraw himself and attempt to lay next to me. He half laid on me as we lay on our backs.

"Wow…" he breathed. "I definitely need a cigarette now."

I laughed softly, turning my head to look at him. He looked over at me and grinned, then sat up, reaching for his pants, but noticing for the first time the mess I had made against him. "Ack…give me your shirt since it's already soiled enough."

I blushed but pulled my shirt off over my head, wiping up the wetness that had seeped onto my own stomach, then passed it in a wad to him. He wiped his stomach and groin, then tossed my shirt on the ground before he leaned over and found his pants again, digging around in the pockets. He pulled out a slightly crushed cigarette and a lighter.

"You don't mind, do you, babe?" He asked, looking back at me with the cigarette between his lips. I shook my head softly as I watched him, my hand finding his little jar of lube. I picked it up and held it out to him. "Thanks."

He dropped it on top of his clothes, then laid back on the cot, holding his arm out so that I would lay against his shoulder again. I watched him smoke as he stared up at the canvas roof over our heads, his fingers in my hair.

"I could get used to this," he murmured. "Being with you."

I pressed a kiss to his shoulder, not sure what to say in response. He seemed like he wanted to say more, but he simply sighed and took another drag on his cigarette. My eyes were growing heavy and I yawned, drawing nearer to him for warmth and comfort as I closed my eyes and let sleep gently come over me.

I woke the next morning to a jeep horn as someone drove through the camp. I was only mildly surprised to find myself alone in my cot and took a moment to reflect on everything before I sat up and reached for my bathrobe. First thing was first…I needed a shower.

Breakfast was a strange affair as more people than usual bade me good morning and even seemed to go out of their way to either hold the door for me, or offer to let me go ahead of them in the chow line, and even pour me a cup of coffee before I had a chance to get there. I realized quickly that this was all due to the lie that Hawkeye had told about my past. This was sympathy—or pity—on their behalves. I wasn't comfortable knowing that they were being kind out of a lie, and couldn't help but wonder how they might treat me if they knew the truth.

The four musketeers swooped in half-way through breakfast, plopping down around me, with Hawkeye right next to me, of course. I'd had my breviary in one hand while I ate with the other, and Hawkeye reached across me and snagged it out of my hand, looking at it.

"These don't look like Bible verses," he noted.

Trapper took it from him next and Duke and Spearchucker looked at it over his shoulder as he exclaimed, "It ain't even in English!"

"It's not a Bible," I told them with a chuckle. "It's a breviary. A book of prayers, hymns, Psalms, readings and rites for everyday use. And no, it's not in English…it's in Latin."

Trapper passed it back to me and I put it in my pocket, knowing I wouldn't be able to read with Hawkeye next to me.

"Why do you read that every morning?" He asked.

"It's kind of a ritual, I guess," I shrugged and sipped my coffee. "Before you guys started sitting with me, breakfast was my quiet time for my devotionals."

Hawkeye was smiling at me, his leg brushing against mine under the table.

"Hey, Dago, if you're not doing anything today, you should come with us to the river." Duke suggested. "If we don't get any wounded between now and then, that is."

"Sure," I smiled, eager to spend time with Hawkeye outdoors. "I've got to work on Sunday's sermon, but I can probably spare a few hours."

"What am I going to be missing this week?" Hawkeye teased.

"I'm not sure yet." I admitted sheepishly.

"I thought all Catholic services were the same thing each week," Duke commented. "A bunch of mournful singing, a bunch of Latin, a bunch of guilt, and everyone goes home."

"You must be thinking of my 11 o'clock service," I mused, somehow finding it easier to banter with Duke now that I'd gotten to know him a little more. I could see Hawkeye raise his eyebrows at me out of the corner of my eye, obviously surprised and amused by my comment. "But no, there's an actual message in between the mournful singing and the guilt."

The four of them all laughed.

"Hey, Dago, did you ever play any sports?" Spearchucker asked.

"I ran track in senior high," I answered, curiously. "Why?"

"We're going to be making a tag football team soon, I didn't know if you'd be interested in playing."

"Oh, no…you'd definitely lose with me on your team; I can't catch a ball to save my life."

Hawkeye chortled beside me, muttering into his coffee cup under his breath, "Something tells me you can catch a ball better than you think."

I could feel myself blushing to my hairline and nudged him with my knee under the table as Spearchucker continued, "I'll bring my football down to the river and teach you a few passes."

Trapper started telling me about last night's poker game and how he'd lost to Hawkeye three straight games in a row to a lucky ace. He was convinced Hawkeye had been cheating. I was having trouble concentrating on what Trapper was saying as Hawkeye's leg was still moving against mine in a slow rhythm, reminding me of our encounter the previous night. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach and I discretely put my hand on his thigh for a moment.

No one mentioned Helen or her tragic death, and for that I was grateful, but Hawkeye seemed to have been right. People seemed to be relating to me more now…or at least seeing me as human and not afraid to say hello. I listened to the Swamp men talking about this or that, trying to find an excuse to leave and write my sermon, but not wanting to offend any of my new friends with my departure. Hawkeye was the one who gave me an out.

"I have to get to post-op," he said, finishing his coffee. "Duty calls."

"I should get back to my tent and start working on my sermon." I stood with Hawkeye. "See ya, fellas."

"We'll swing by later and get you, Red." Trapper said as the others bade us goodbye. Hawkeye shouldered the door open, his hands in his pockets, and held it for me.

"Thanks," I said softly, passing through the door and intentionally brushing my hand down his arm.

"Sleep okay?" He asked as we both strolled in the same direction.

"I did,"I answered softly, bowing my head a little to hide my blush. "What time did you leave?"

"A little while after you fell asleep," he smirked. "I wanted to stay all night."

"You could have." I offered quietly.

"That would have drawn attention," he noted with a grin, then deftly changed the subject. "I got a little more of your journal read last night. I'm trying to get an entry a day."

"And?"

"How long were you in Tibet?"

"Seven years."

"Seven years?" he stopped and looked at me curiously. "Dago, how old are you?"

I blushed furiously under his inspection. "How old do I look?"

"Same age as me, 36."

I laughed. "Thanks, but you're about 5 years off. I'm 41."

His mouth fell open in total shock. "You're serious?"

I nodded. He let out a low whistle.

"I would never have guessed you were that much older than me." He seemed to be trying to piece together the story of my life so that it added up to me being in Korea and I laughed at the confused look on his face.

"Keep reading the journal," I encouraged, clapping him on the shoulder as I veered for my tent and he kept on walking to post-op.

Finding the topic for my sermon this week wasn't hard. I knew I should focus on the 10 Commandments, but decided to take a different approach to the usual lecture on upholding these sacred covenants without exception. I was in a place where most of my flock—and even I, their Sheppard—had broken at least one of the Commandments. Rather than focusing on the whole lot of us going to Hell, I decided to talk about the mercy of Jesus Christ and maybe provide hope to my fellow sinners that we were not all destined for Hell…or Purgatory…or any place in between.

The sermon had very nearly written itself by the time Shave and a Haircut was tapped out on my door by two different sets of hands. I put away my notes as I beckoned the callers inside. Trapper and Duke stepped in wearing shorts and top-siders and nothing else. They took one look at me, still in full fatigues and both sighed in unison.

"Dago, Dago, Dago," Trapper shook his head. "How do you expect to get some sun if you're dressed like that? Don't you own any shorts?"

"Y-Yeah, sure, of course." I stuttered.

"Well, hurry up and put 'em on!" Duke said snapping his fingers at me.

I dug through my footlocker for my army-issued short pants and a plain grey t-shirt. Trapper laid down on my cot cracking open a beer that he'd been holding. I tried not to blush as I thought of all the things Hawkeye and I had done in that cot, and quickly changed clothes. Duke was looking at my collection of books and around my tent.

"You've got it made over here, Dago Red-o." He said casually. "No one sharin' your space or waking you up at night with their snoring."

I chuckled as he cast a look at Trapper who was getting off my cot as I found my own pair of top-siders to wear. "I have a condition," Trapper countered.

"Yeah…it's called 'obnoxious.' C'mon, let's go." Duke replied, tossing a beer at me. I barely caught it as I followed them out of my tent, quietly wondering where Hawkeye was and hoping he'd be along soon.

Spearchucker, Painless and a couple of other guys that I only vaguely knew were already down by the river when we arrived in various states of relaxation. I sat down on the bank, watching Spearchucker and another young boy tossing a football across the river at each other.

"Go long, Gorman!" Spearchucker called, pulling back his arm and launching the ball. I watched it make a perfect spiral and sail right over Gorman's head. "I said go long!"

Gorman mumbled something that I didn't catch as my Hawkeye-senses began to tingle.

"Toss it here, babe!" I heard him call from a few feet behind me. I turned and shaded my eyes, watching Hawkeye stick his cigarette between his lips and hold out his hands to expertly catch the ball before he threw it back to Spearchucker.

"Hey Hawkeye," came a chorus of greetings from the others. Hawkeye ruffled my hair, winking down at me before he greeted the others and asked Trapper for a beer.

"How's our kid doin', Hawk?" Duke asked from where he was sunning himself in a chair.

"He's good, real good. Pulse is strong, BP is good, temp's ok. I think he's going to make it." Hawkeye pulled a lounging chair over towards me and sat down, peeling off his shirt as he sat back with his beer, saluting me with it. "He owes his life to you, Dago."

"Hardly," I countered, stretching my legs out and leaning back on my palms.

"Geeze, babe, do you ever get out in the sun? You're legs are white as snow."

I laughed softly but shook my head. "I'm Irish; when I get out in the sun I just burn, peel, and freckle."

The others around us laughed.

"I'm with you in that boat, Dago," Painless said. "I'm not Irish, but all I ever do is burn. I don't tan like these lucky bastards."

"What can we say, Painless…some guys got it, and some guys don't." Trapper said, not bothering to open his eyes from where he was lounging.

I was suddenly struck by an image of all of them as sun-bathing lizards and the thought made me snort with laughter.

"What's funny?" Hawkeye asked with a sideways grin.

"Just a thought I had," I answered, still amused by the mental image. "You guys are like a bunch of lounging lizards trying to sun yourselves."

"Lounge lizards," Painless chortled, overhearing me. "I like that. Catchier than 'Swamp Rats,' at least."

"Hey, Red," Spearchucker called. I looked over and he motioned me with his head. "Come on, I'll teach you some passes."

I stood and brushed myself off, handing my unopened beer to Hawkeye.

"Go easy on him, 'Chuck," Hawkeye called. "If he gets hurt, you have to answer to God."

I cast a reproving look at Hawkeye over my shoulder but he just smirked before turning to talk with the other guys.

I knew the very basics of football, but Spearchucker wasn't taking any chances. He taught me how to grip the ball and how to bring it towards my body when catching in order to protect it from being fumbled or knocked out of my hands. He showed me his mechanics for throwing and how to put the perfect spiral motion on the ball, then he was ready for a few practice throws. We stood about 15 feet apart and started out just simply tossing the ball back and forth as he let me get used to throwing and catching it, offering tips and pointers as he noticed me doing something wrong.

"Go to the other side of the river," he said as I threw the ball back to him. "We'll do some real passes now."

I wasn't thrilled about wading through the waist-high pool of water, but figured since Bandini was floating like an otter on his back in the middle of the river, it probably wasn't filled with snakes or other deadly creatures, so I crossed, if but a little tentatively. My shoes squished unpleasantly on the opposite bank but I wasn't about to take them off and slice my foot open on a rock.

When I was ready, Spearchucker launched the ball at me and, even though I caught it, the force of it was greater than I anticipated and it nearly knocked the wind out of me. So much for going easy on me. I could hear him laughing on the other side of the river.

"Sorry, Dago!" He called waving for me to throw it back. I pulled back, aware that all the others were watching me closely and threw the ball. It sailed high and Spearchucker had to jump to catch it. The others chuckled. I saw Hawkeye take a swig of his beer before he set it down and got up, moving down the bank towards Spearchucker. I almost forgot to pay attention to Spearchucker as he threw the ball back to me, but I managed to catch it and throw it back.

Hawkeye intercepted the catch and rolled it over to Spearchucker as he said something, then he started crossing the river towards me, diving into the water with hat and glasses still on and coming back up dripping wet. He took off his glasses and used a dry part of my shirt to wipe them off before he turned to face Spearchucker, holding out his hands to show he was ready for a pass. Spearchucker launched a missile at Hawkeye, who effortlessly caught the ball.

"Here, let me show you my technique," he told me as he put the ball in my hands and arranged my fingers over the laces. "You have nice hands, you know that?"

"Who? Me?" I was surprised by the soft comment.

"Well, I'm not talking to myself, am I?" He smirked, glancing up at me. "Yeah, you. I think your hands are one of my favorite things about you. Long, slender fingers…nice bone structure…soft and warm. They're nice."

"Oh," I knew I was turning crimson again. "Thank you. I like your hands, too."

He turned me so that my back was to him, then reached around and pulled my arm back so that the ball was just passed my ear. "Always follow through. Your fingers should be pointing to where you want the ball to go after you release."

He took me through the motions a few times, telling me at what point I should release, then he stepped back.

"Let's see what you've got, babe." He smirked. I felt his eyes on me as I pulled back and threw, this time a little more on target than my previous attempts. There were cheers and whistles from the other guys and Hawkeye clapped behind me. "See, forget everything he taught you and just listen to me."

I laughed slightly and almost missed the ball as it sailed back to me, hitting me in the stomach. Hawkeye roared with laughter and I turned around, trying to peg him with the ball in playful retribution. Even in the middle of his laughter he caught it without much effort but raised his eyebrows at me.

"Oh…you wanna play, do you?" He said with a smirk as he launched the ball at Spearchucker. I could see the wicked look in his eyes and I started backing up away from him.

"Hawkeye," I warned, holding out my hand to stay him.

"Get him, Hawkeye!" Trapper yelled, obviously watching the exchange.

I backed ankle deep into the river just as Hawkeye ran at me, grabbing me around the waist, spinning us both around and towards the middle of the river.

"Hawkeye!" I shrieked as we tipped over and both went under sideways. We surfaced and he was laughing, splashing water at me as I tried to wipe the water off my face before opening my eyes. Every time I opened my eyes, he would flick more water at me. "Hawkeye!" I laughed, though exasperated.

Trapper waded into the water near us, bringing Hawkeye's beer and they both squatted low in the water up to their necks. "You'll never win against him, Dago. Trust me."

"Many have tried," Hawkeye said, looking at me.

"All have failed." Trapper finished. "He's like a mongoose. You'd never expect Hawkeye to be quick or strong."

"Well, looks can be deceiving." Hawkeye grinned, winking at me. I smiled at him softly and he splashed water in my face again.

"Attention: All personnel…"

"Ah, come on!" Trapper yelled towards the loudspeaker as everyone else groaned and began gathering their things and hurrying back towards the camp.

"I think the North Koreans know just when we're all having a good time," Hawkeye said as he, Trapper and I trudged out of the river, dripping wet. "It's times like these when they send us our wounded."

"Never fails," Trapper agreed.

I hadn't brought a towel with me, underestimating how much I might need it. Hawkeye quickly toweled off his face and upper body before he tossed his towel at me and put his shirt back on. I rubbed it through my wet hair, knowing the rest of me was a lost cause, as my shirt, shorts, undershorts and shoes were drenched. We jogged back to camp and I veered off to my tent to hurriedly change my clothes and gather my trade tools, then went back out to help with the wounded.

The doctors were still all assessing the wounded, and Trapper waved me over to him.

"Give this one the final farewell, Dago; he's gone." He clapped me on the back as I knelt down next to the fallen boy and he moved on to another patient.

It was so strange to me how differently I was being treated now that I was considered one of Hawkeye's friends. No one had ever been exceptionally rude to me before, but now they all laughed and joked and bantered with me like they did with each other. I'd been accepted into their fold. Strangely enough, I felt a little uncomfortable by that revelation. I felt that Hawkeye and I were essentially lying to them about the context of our relationship. We'd already lied about my past, and while we never appeared to be more than just friends in public, it still felt wrong. I didn't like to mislead people.

I heard someone shouting in Korean and raised voices and looked over to see one of the nurses struggling with a wounded North Korean soldier who had come in with our boys. The expression on his face could only be described as hatred, and I noticed he had one hand in a pocket on his trousers as he shouted angrily in Korean. I stopped what I was doing and rushed over, somehow knowing what was about to happen. The boy extracted a dangerous looking combat knife that looked similar to a KA-BAR used by the marines, but with a much shorter blade. He slashed up at the nurse, who screamed, but managed to dodge the blade. I pushed her out of the way roughly, pinning the Korean down by his shoulders as he started to get up.

"DAGO!" Hawkeye and Duke yelled as I struggled with the armed enemy, who was still brandishing his knife at me. They were running to my aid when he managed to re-grip his knife and stab it into my side with some force. I fell back in pain, clutching at my side as Duke punched the guy and knocked the knife away from his hand. Hawkeye was at my side, pulling at my clothes and telling me to lie still. The wound hurt, but I didn't feel as though I was going to die from it.

"I'm fine," I told him through gritted teeth, trying to sit up. "See to the wounded."

" _You're_ wounded, Dago, now hold still!" He told, pushing me back on the ground as he gently prodded the wound to assess the damage. "Damn...it's deep. I'm going to have to go in."

I groaned at the thought of surgery. Hawkeye was pressing a bandage to my side and calling over a stretcher. "I can walk." I argued.

"Like hell you are; Henry, I'm taking Dago first." He said before looking at me. "It'll be okay. I promise."

I sighed but nodded, seeing the worry on his face. He surprised me when he leaned in and quickly pressed his lips to my forehead before he ran off to scrub up. The others moved about more quickly with Hawkeye out of the assessment pool and two of the corpsmen ran over with a stretcher. I sighed again, feeling like a burden, but moved onto it and let them carry me into pre-op, where one of the nurses helped me out of my shoes, socks, jacket, shirt and trousers, leaving me in my boxer shorts. She covered me with a sheet, and I was promptly taken into the OR.

Ugly John was already waiting for me. "Good afternoon, I'll be your gas passer today."

My side was starting to twinge a little more as the adrenaline began to wear off and I started to wonder just how bad the wound was. Was Hawkeye taking me first because of our intimate relationship, or because I was seriously injured? I didn't want to think about that. I couldn't even manage to offer Ugly John an appreciative laugh at his greeting. He seemed to note my worry, and the look of pain on my face because he softened his tone a little.

"Don't worry, Red; Hawkeye will have you fixed up in no time. Ever been put under before?"

"No…" I managed shakily, my teeth starting to chatter from nerves.

"It's easier than falling asleep."

I felt a hand on my shoulder as Ugly John got ready to put me under and I looked up at Hawkeye. He hadn't pulled his mask up yet. I could tell he was trying to smile, but there were worry lines on his face.

Neither of us spoke, but there was such intensity in his expression that I knew he was trying to convey how much he cared for me. I reached up and put my hand over his on my shoulder, reassuring him that I knew I was in good hands. He nodded to Ugly John, who put the mask over my face and I stared up at Hawkeye, gripping his hand tightly until the world faded to black.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye's POV.

I felt Dago's grip growing more and more slack as the anesthesia took hold. U.J. gave me a nod when Dago was completely under and I was surprised when Hotlips stepped up to assist me. I tried not to think about who was on my table, or what had happened, but my heart felt like it was beating in my throat.

"Okay," I said, remembering that I was the surgeon. "Help me turn him on his side, keep his arm up over his head a bit."

We got Dago on his side and I put my mask on before taking the bandage off his side. It was stained with dark blood and I knew that wasn't a good sign. "Scalpel…"

"Scalpel," Hotlips parroted, snapping it into my hand.

As I began to cut, working on autopilot, my mind began to replay scenes from last night. Being with him had been an incredible experience, even if he still seemed to be on the fence about what we were doing. Part of me wished he wasn't a priest so he would stop fretting so much about whether or not he was going to hell, but I knew that his occupation was a twisted part of my attraction to him, even if it was the biggest source of conflict between us.

Last night, as we laid there together in post-coital bliss with Dago falling asleep on my shoulder, I finally admitted to myself that I did love him. Maybe it wasn't the 'oh, baby I'm leaving my wife for you' kind of love, but the feelings were still very strong. Strong enough that I was seriously starting to question my sexuality. I still wasn't ready to think of myself in homosexual terms, or even bisexual ones. Was try-sexual an option? I'd try anything once, and maybe again just be sure if I really enjoyed it the first time or not.

I knew that Dago loved me, too. He'd almost said it a few nights ago before he'd stopped himself, but last night he had said that was the reason why he felt what we were doing wasn't wrong. I guess, to him, love really did conquer all and made everything okay. As long as it got him to stop talking about sinning and start sucking my cock, I didn't care what he thought.

I felt a little daunted know that our feelings were mutual. Where did we go from here? What difference did it make if we did love each other? He was still a priest, I was still married, and a life together beyond this war was just improbable. I ultimately decided not to think about it all together. If the war was all we had, then so be it. We would deal with goodbyes when it came time. For now, I just wanted to have fun whenever I could and fuck his brains out. Love or not, I enjoyed being with Dago and I had no intentions of giving that up anytime soon.

"Suction."

"Suction," Hotlips parroted again as I continued to work.

That afternoon at the river seemed like a lifetime ago now, but it had been one of the best times I'd had in Korea. Seeing him in his shorts and t-shirt, sitting on the bank of the river with Trapper and the other guys had been an endearing sight. He'd looked so relaxed out there and—If I'm completely honest—he looked good in casual clothes. Hell, he looked good in anything really…and nothing. Maybe it was just the fact that for once I wasn't reminded that we were in the army, or in Korea, or that he was a priest.

I could see Dago starting to become a little more confident around me and the guys. He was still shy and a little reserved, but he seemed more comfortable around us and had even made a joke when Duke had poked fun at Catholic services. I could also tell that my bad habits were starting to rub off on him, smirking as I remembered his use of the word 'fuck' promptly followed by his mortification. Maybe swearing really didn't fit his personality, but I had sure gotten a kick out of hearing it.

"Sponge," I said, still carefully working on Dago. The knife had lacerated part of his large intestine, but the damage didn't seem to extend beyond that. Thank whatever God Dago believed in for inferior hand weapons and the layers of clothes he had changed into…and Dago's sheer dumb luck. An inch in any direction and he might not have been so lucky.

I stitched the lacerated organ, double checking to make sure I hadn't missed the tiniest nick, then began to stitch the wound closed. Though I was giving him my best needle work, I knew it would leave a scar, and take some time to heal up, though it wasn't a wound he would get discharged on. A medal of valor and bravery, maybe, but he'd be stuck here with me for the foreseeable future.

I sighed in relief as I finished working on him and I called for the corpsmen. We carefully rolled him onto his back as we transferred him onto the stretcher and I watched them take him to post-op, my heart finally settling back down in my chest. I heard Ugly John mirror my sigh and we exchanged a look.

"He's one lucky son of a bitch." U.J. said.

"You're telling me."

The rest of our causalities-in-waiting weren't too severe and the numbers were nowhere near as staggering as they had been the last few days. Three hours total and we were wrapping up. I wasn't about to complain. I hurriedly scrubbed up, along with Trapper and Duke and the three of us went to post-op to check on our chaplain.

Dago was still out cold, but his wound had been dressed and he'd been given a set of hospital pajamas to wear. I sat next to him on the cot as Trapper and Duke looked on.

"He saved my life," a soft voice said from behind us and I turned around to see Becky looking teary eyed. "He must have seen the guy pull out that knife and he pushed me out of the way."

I still couldn't wrap my mind around just how brave and selfless Dago could be. He'd reacted without a second thought, and even after being stabbed he'd insisted on us tending to the other wounded first. As if I was about to let him sit there and possibly bleed to death internally… I'd never been more frightened in my entire life as I saw the blade go into him, knowing that it could have gone into his liver, or kidney, or an artery. I remember feeling like everything was happening in slow motion as we yelled at him in warning, already running towards him and the North Korean kid. We were sheer seconds too late, and I'd quietly hoped that Duke had broken the kid's jaw when he'd socked him.

"You the one on duty right now?" I asked Becky.

She nodded without speaking.

"Come get me the minute he wakes up, okay?"

She nodded again.

Trapper, Duke and I wandered back to the swamp and immediately went for the still. How quickly our day of fun had come to a screeching halt. None of us felt like laughing as we sat there drinking, each of us considering that he could have died today. We see death each and every day, and while it's never easy, it's a whole new ballgame when it's one of your own…when it's someone you love. If either of the guys saw my hands shaking as I held my martini, they didn't comment.

"How bad was it?" Duke finally asked.

"Sliced into his intestines, but missed anything major." I held my fingers up an inch apart. "Came this close to his liver."

"Dumb kid," Trapper shook his head. "Here we are trying to save his life and he's got to try and take out a couple of us in the process."

"At least he didn't succeed." I told them dryly.

"I'll drink to that," Trapper said. We all did.

Several of the guys we'd spent the afternoon with wandered into the Swamp asking about Dago, all deciding to hang with us in our gloom as we worked on emptying the still. A couple of hours must have passed since we'd left the OR and, finally, Boone ran in.

"Hawkeye," he panted. "Dago's awake."

It was like a stampede as we all tried to get out the door at the same time, heading towards post-op like a mob, with me as their leader. I swallowed hard and hurried through the door, seeing Becky sitting next to Dago. They both looked over at us and I wanted to run to him, but I didn't.

Becky moved off the bed and I took her place, putting my hand on his shoulder, simply needing to touch him and know he was alright, even though I knew he'd be fine.

"How are you feeling?" I asked gently as the others all gathered around the bed. Dago looked wearily up at the concerned faces standing over him, obviously still somewhat out of it. I looked over my shoulder at the mob. "Come on, you guys, give him a little room."

Slowly they dispersed until it was just me, Trapper and Duke and I repeated my question.

"My head hurts quite a bit." He finally said.

"Probably just a reaction to the anesthesia." I told him, 95% confident in my assessment. I put my hand on his forehead to feel for fever, just in case, but he felt cool. "Usually makes people either nauseous or gives them a headache. Funny thing about hospitals, we make you sicker than you were when you came in."

He chuckled and immediately groaned, making a pained face, "Ohh…don't make me laugh, Hawkeye."

"Sorry," I couldn't help but smirk before I looked back at Becky. "Give him a dose of Paracetamol."

"What will that do?" He asked as I turned back to look at him.

"Hopefully knock that headache out," I said as I gently began to pull his pajama top up so I could look at him. "I promise I won't poke around too much because I know it hurts, but I just want to make sure there aren't any signs of infection, okay?"

He nodded and I saw him hold his breath as I carefully removed the dressing taped against his side. The wound was still seeping a little blood and clear fluid, but that was normal. I gingerly felt the skin around the stitches and he winced.

"I know, I'm sorry, baby…" I didn't see any preliminary signs of infection or cause for concern so I took my hand away and he released the breath he was holding. Duke brought me some fresh gauze and tape and I quickly redressed the wound before I pulled his shirt back in place and pulled the sheet up to his chest. "See? All done."

"How long do I have to stay here?"

"Just for tonight, for observation. As long as everything's okay, I'll let you go back to your tent in the morning."

"The Korean boy…is he okay?"

I don't know why I was shocked that he'd be asking about his attacker. Selfless Dago strikes again.

"He's fine," Duke answered, having been the one who operated on him. "Superficial wounds mostly. Once I'd finished with him and made sure there weren't no more weapons hiding on him, we shipped him out of here."

"You know he could have killed you, right Dago?" Trapper's voice had suddenly turned very grave.

"It was either me or Nurse Hartwell," Dago replied looking up at him seriously. Hartwell…was that Becky's last name? Why didn't I know that?

"Do me a favor, babe," I cut in. "Next time someone's got a knife, try not to let them stab you."

He gave me a very tired, unamused look and I knew he was in a lot of pain. I found his hand and squeezed it gently, wishing we could have a few minutes alone. He weakly squeezed my hand back, trying to take a deep breath. I saw it catch as the pain in his side flared up, making him wince.

"Get some rest, Dago." I murmured as Becky came back with syringe of Paracetamol. "We'll come back and check on you later."

He nodded and I moved back so that Becky could give him the injection. I watched her unbutton the top button of his pajama top and slide it over just enough so that she could inject him on the uppermost part of his arm near his shoulder. He closed his eyes as the needle went in, brows furrowing ever so slightly, then looked at me as she finished with the injection.

"Thank you, Hawkeye."

I knew he was thanking me for saving his life, and it felt completely unnecessary. "No need to thank me, Dago. Just rest up, okay?

He nodded and closed his eyes, and the three of us left, heading for the mess tent to pick through dinner.

"Now we really gotta do something nice for Dago," Duke said, poking at what appeared to be a poor imitation of meatloaf. "He keeps saving our butts, and this time it nearly cost him his."

Oh, Duke…please don't mention Dago's butt right now. Even though I knew Dago could have been fatally wounded, the mention of his ass brought to mind those delicious images of last night when I'd been inside of him, and my cock jerked in response. Down, boy…

"Maybe we should give Sunday's services for him," Trapper offered.

Duke was nodding vigorously and stabbing his fork at Trapper. "Yeah, yeah, yeah! We could write up a sermon and do the songs and everything."

"As much as he appreciated Painless' Last Supper," I said, sarcastically. "Something tells me he wouldn't appreciate us ruining mass as well."

"Who said anything about 'ruining' mass?" Duke asked, looking over at me. "We'd be doing him a favor."

Somehow I doubted that, but it was obvious I had been overruled in the matter, so I let it go and let them plan out their little church service. Halfway through their planning I made an excuse to leave and went to take a shower. I leaned against the shower wall, letting the water run over me. I couldn't stop seeing images of Dago being shivved in the side by that kid. I thought about what might have happened if the guy had aimed for anywhere other than in his side. He could have stabbed Dago in the chest through his heart, or slit his throat, or just about anywhere else that could very well have instantly killed him.

I really didn't want to think about those alternative scenarios. Up until now this war had been just a giant inconvenience in my life. I was drafted to come over here and patch up our boys so that they could be shipped right back to the front of the war just to get blown apart some more. I knew there was fighting and danger here, but I was somewhat removed from it. I considered the 4077th a safe zone. Nothing could happen here, right? Wrong… That damn kid had brought the war right to our front door, making it abundantly clear that no one was safe.

After I'd gotten cleaned up, I headed over to post-op to check on Dago again. He was sleeping so I quietly looked at his chart to see if anything had come up in the last hour or so, but there was nothing written down.

I whistled softly at the gorgeous nurse who had taken over for Becky, "Hey, Knocko, how's he doin'?"

"Dago?" She asked coming over. "He's been asleep since I came on duty about half an hour ago. Why? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know he had a headache earlier but if he hasn't woken back up that's good."

"You know, you should really go talk to Becky, Hawkeye." Knocko told me seriously. "She's really upset about what happened."

"We all are, honey."

"Yeah, but she almost got stabbed, too…would have if Dago hadn't been there."

"I know. I'll go check on her in a bit. Is it okay if I sit with him for a few minutes?"

"Sure, I don't care. I've got to make rounds in a minute anyways."

I nodded and she left to go draw syringes and whatever else she needed to do for her bed checks, then I sat down on the edge of the cot, looking down at Dago. I gently took his hand in mine and he stirred, blinking his eyes open at me.

"Hey baby, I didn't mean to wake you up."

"No, it's okay." He said sleepily, trying to shift positions, but wincing in pain. I put my hand on his shoulder.

"Don't go rolling around too much or you might tear the stitches. I'm pretty sure you don't want a repeat of the OR experience."

"No, you're absolutely right about that." He was completely serious, but I still had to laugh.

"How are you feeling right now?"

"Just really sore. I want to say it feels like I've been kicked in the ribs by a horse, but 'I've been stabbed' is much more accurate."

I laughed again. I knew he wasn't trying to be intentionally funny, but I still found it humorous. "And the headache?"

"Gone. Thank you."

"Good. I'm glad it didn't make you sick to your stomach. Throwing up at a time like this would be really unlucky."

He nodded, a look of horror on his face at the sheer thought of vomiting after being stabbed in the side.

"I think I should warn you that Trapper and Duke are planning to do your Sunday services in your place. They're working up a sermon as we speak."

"Oh…oh dear…"

"I tried to talk them out of it, but they think they're doing you a favor."

"No offense, Hawkeye, but the 'favors' you boys have done for me have been anything but. I'm sure I don't need to remind you about Shaking Sammy."

I chortled at the memory. It had been several months since we'd pulled that little stunt, but I remembered it well. Dago had done a truly exceptional job in putting in one of his fixes on a kid that had been touch-and-go for a while. We'd woken him in the middle of the night to come do some cross action for us, and by sun up the kid was well on his way to recovery. As payback, or thanks, or whatever we'd decided it should be, Duke, Trap and I decided to offer a human sacrifice in Dago's honor. We'd stolen a jeep in the middle of the night and driven up the road to the outfit were a Protestant chaplain—Shaking Sammy—was camped. We kidnapped him, brought him back to the 4077th, and tied him to a cross. We'd piled up anything flammable we could find, and the three of us camped out until sunrise when Dago had woken up and started getting ready to give mass. I'll never forget the utter shock and disbelief on Dago's face as I doused Shaking Sammy in "gasoline" and Trapper lit the fake Molotov cocktail. We had tossed the lit bottle and run, so I didn't get to witness Dago's reaction at that point, but to say Dago had been pissed at us was an understatement. I was surprised he'd ever talked to any of us again after that. It had been a prank, but it had landed us in pretty hot water.

"That wasn't funny, Hawkeye." He admonished me for my laughter, but I couldn't help it. It was still funny to me.

"We weren't really going to hurt him, Dago."

"He didn't know that, and neither did I at the time."

"Alright, alright," I conceded for the sake of argument. "Maybe it was over the top. But, I don't think I can talk Duke and Trapper out of the Sunday thing. They're pretty set on it."

Dago sighed, obviously trying to imagine the disaster that was going to be and realizing he was powerless to stop it. "Just keep them out of the sacrificial wine, alright?"

"I'll do my best." I knew I couldn't promise that. I glanced around the ward, making sure no one was paying attention to us and I leaned in a little closer, lowering my voice. "I really want to kiss you right now."

"Hawkeye," he blushed, glancing around nervously.

"No one's paying any attention to us." I soothed, slipping my hand under his blanket and gently squeezing his cock through his pajama bottoms.

He looked less than convinced, but bit his lip against the moan of pleasure he nearly made. His deep blue eyes met mine and I could see the desire there as he murmured, "Me too."

I looked around once more, making sure no one was looking, and leaned in to steal a very quick kiss. His cheeks were burning when I pulled back. I grinned at him and he rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"You're crazy, you know that, right?"

I laughed quietly. "Do you want me to bring you anything from your tent since you're stuck here for the night?"

He shook his head. "I think I'll just try to sleep."

"Okay." We looked at each other for a long moment and I felt his thumb stroking the back of my hand still covering his cock. I wanted to stay with him, but knew—for appearances sake—I shouldn't. "Listen, if you need anything, just tell the nurses to come get me, okay?"

"I will." He squeezed my hand under the blanket. "Thanks, Hawkeye."

I smirked, squeezed him again, making him moan softly, then withdrew my hand. "I'll see you in the morning, babe."

I left post-op, and headed for the nurses tent to find Becky and check on her. Several other girls were there, helping console her and she smiled softly at me as I came in.

"Hi, Hawkeye."

"I just wanted to see how you're doing."

She got up, taking my arm, "Can we go somewhere private and talk?"

She was already leading me out of the tent. "Uh, yeah sure, honey."

Somehow I knew that there wasn't going to be much talking, and sure enough, she drug me back into the supply tent and her lips were on mine almost in the same instant. As nice as kissing her was, she wasn't Dago…and Dago was who I really wanted to be kissing. She seemed to sense my lack of enthusiasm and pulled back.

"What's the matter? Don't you like me?"

"Of course I do…I'm just worried is all," I lied.

"I don't want to think about that anymore today, Hawkeye." She told me as she slipped her arms around my neck. "I just want to be here with you and forget what happened."

I wanted to tell her that she could forget all she wanted, but Dago would never be able to forget, but I didn't say anything. I let her continue to kiss me. I let her hand slip into my trousers and take hold of my cock. I let her take off her own pants and panties and guide me into her. I let myself fuck her.

Don't get me wrong, the sex was good and I had no problem finishing, but I just wasn't interested in Becky. A couple of weeks ago I would have been falling over myself for a chance with her…what the hell had happened to me? I walked her back to her tent, allowing her to give me a very lasting goodnight kiss, then went back to the Swamp.

I dug Dago's journal out of my footlocker and laid down to read.

_15th October, 1942_

_Today I received my first letter from Danny since coming to Tibet. Part of me truly hoped he wouldn't write at all after the fiasco in New York when he came to see me off. What a nightmare… His letter was pretty standard—no apology of course, not that I expected one—but I haven't decided whether or not I intend to write back. I suppose I will have to eventually._

_Tseten returned to Lhasa today from the Samye Monastery where he's spent the last 3 months secluded with other monks in the area. I didn't realize how much I'd missed seeing him every day until now. He told me they'd just celebrated the end of Vassa, which means 'Rain Retreat.' Buddhists treat monsoon season as a type of religious experience—to me it seems similar to Lent that Catholics celebrate in the Spring. I'm completely fascinated by the Buddhist religion and practices. I'm glad Tseten and I have become friends so that I can learn more about his religion. I'd love to visit the monastery and observe their practices._

_I'm pretty sure the other missionaries here think I'm treating this opportunity as some sort of philosophical journey rather than the real purpose of ministering to the locals and helping the Catholic Church establish some roots in this area, but I don't see the problem with doing both. How can I be expected to minister to these people and convince them that Jesus Christ is their salvation if I don't understand their current beliefs?_

_Tseten seems to be as interested in religions on the whole as I am. I think I've witnessed more to him over the last six months than I have to anyone else, though I think he does it because it sparks a religious debate between us that can go on for hours. He would make a great politician in the States…_

_Tomorrow I plan to travel north of Lhasa to visit some of the villages we haven't made it to yet and meet with some of the locals. Tseten has offered to be my guide and interpreter since I still don't speak very much Tibetan, though I have been practicing. My fluent vocabulary now consists of: tashi dele (hello), kale shoo (goodbye), thoo jaychay (thank you), Ka tso ay? (How much?), and ha ko ma song (I don't understand). I'll keep pestering Tseten to teach me more._

_Until then, I pray that God continues to watch over me and work through me on my mission here. I thank him for the friends I have made and the works he has helped me complete. Each day is a true blessing._

_JM_

I smiled softly as I finished the entry, visualizing the scenes in my head. I wondered what Danny's letter had said, and what fiasco Dago was talking about. I wondered if he had other journals prior to his starting this one in Tibet. I wondered if he'd kept one in seminary when he and Danny had been together. I'd have to remember to ask him.

"We've finally got it," Duke announced to me as he and Trapper entered the swamp. "We're going to do a magic show and turn water into wine just like Jesus did."

"Think you can convince Dago to give us some of his wine stash?" Trapper asked.

I shook my head as I tucked the journal under my pillow. "Not a chance, he's already sworn me in as protector of his wine."

"You told him?" Duke sounded hurt. "Hawkeye, you ruined the surprise!"

"I warned him, Duke. There's a difference." I pointed out. "He still hasn't forgotten about our sacrifice of Shaking Sammy, you know."

"Well, we weren't planning to sacrifice anyone this time," Duke said moodily. "What are we supposed to use if he won't let us have any wine?"

"Why not gin?" I offered.

"Yeah, I guess…not the same though."

"Was that Nurse Becky I saw you leaving the supply tent with?" Trapper asked, waggling his eyebrows at me.

"Yeah. I was offering her a little comfort," I winked at him and the two of them practically salivated.

"Man, I'd give my left nut to score with her," Trapper commented. "She's got nicer tits than Knocko."

"Nice ass, too," Duke added.

"And quite the talented little tongue," I supplied.

"We really gotta find a nickname for her," Duke said almost dreamily.

We spent a good portion of the night suggesting such names for Becky as we sipped gin martinis, ultimately coming up with nothing that we wanted to repeat in public.

When morning came, my first stop was post-op. Dago was awake and propped up on several pillows. I raised my eyebrows at him and sat down next to him. "Well, I see someone's feeling well enough to sit up."

"Honestly, it hurt so bad sitting up that I haven't had the courage to ask to lay back down yet."

I laughed softly, touching his hand and giving it a squeeze. "It's gonna hurt for a few days, baby. Can I pull your shirt up and check the stitches?"

"Yeah, I guess so." He sounded less than enthusiastic about that. "The bandage was changed about an hour ago."

"Good," I said as I gently lifted his right arm up so that I could pull the shirt up to look at the stitches. I didn't poke around today, and just lifted the bandage off enough to make sure the stitches hadn't pulled loose. "Do you feel like going back to your tent today?"

"Should I?" He asked with trepidation, obviously not looking forward to having to move more than necessary.

"I don't want you running any marathons any time soon, but you need to move around a little bit. The longer you stay still, the more painful the healing is going to be."

"I don't like the sound of that, either."

I laughed softly. "Stay here, I'll go get your robe."

I went to Dago's tent to fetch his robe and was greeted by Trapper and Duke looting Dago's wine. I shook my head at them and took one of the bottles they had pilfered, putting it back. "Go on, get outta here, I'm about to bring him back over here."

They grinned victoriously, running out the door with the 3 bottles I let them have. I hoped Dago wouldn't notice, but knew he would. He probably kept very close inventory on everything, knowing that the minute he turned his back, we'd all be wetting our tongues with sacrificial wine. I found his robe and turned down his bed, then headed back to post-op.

"Alright, baby, nice and slow, okay?" I said as I got on the left side of the bed and eased his back off the pillows until he was sitting up. He was wincing and hissing in pain, his left hand crossing his body as if to clutch as his side, but he thought better of it and his hand gripped my forearm instead.

"Ow…ow…ow…" He muttered through gritted teeth. I gave him a minute to get used to sitting up before I tapped his left leg.

"Alright, Dago, time to swing those legs over the side." He looked up at me in pained annoyance but slowly began to ease his legs over the edge of the cot one at a time, his hand still gripping my arm. "That's it, easy does it."

"I changed my mind," he said shakily. "I'll just lay here for the rest of the war."

"Not an option," I told him, smiling softly though I knew he was in serious pain. "You're almost there. It'll be better when you're on your feet."

He took a deep breath and I put my arm around his shoulders to help support him as he carefully stood up, sucking air through his teeth.

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

He glared at me.

"I stand corrected," I lightly joked, picking up his robe with one hand and continuing to steady him with the other. I draped the robe across his shoulders, not wanting to try and get his arms into the sleeves and the nurse on duty set down a pair of slippers for him to use. He gingerly stepped into them and I held onto his left arm as I encouraged him to take a few steps around the ward first. I didn't want to get halfway to his tent and have him say he couldn't take another step. His eyes were closed in serious concentration as I helped him walk up and down the main aisle of post-op a couple of times. Each step seemed to be a little easier for him, but he was still favoring his right side and all but dragging his right foot to meet his left as he stepped forward.

"Baby, pick your feet up."

"I'm trying, Hawkeye,"

"I know, but you've got to pick your right foot up. Do I need to sing the hokey pokey?"

"Please don't." Though his voice was ragged from the painful exertion I was putting him through, I could hear the slight teasing note and it made me laugh. He finally started actually stepping with his right foot and when we got near the door to post-op I paused and looked over at him.

"Think you can make it over to your tent?"

He nodded, and we slowly headed out the door.

"Getting any easier?"

"A little," he managed. "But I feel like the stitches are about to come undone."

"I'll check them when we get you settled, but they should be fine." We took a few more steps before I glanced over at him. "Can I ask you something about your journal?"

"Sure."

"There was an entry from the middle of October where you received a letter from Danny. You mentioned something about a 'fiasco' in New York…what was that about?"

"It's a long story."

"I've got time."

"Can we get me to my tent first? It's hard to walk and talk right now."

"Sure," I chuckled softly.

We reached his tent and I grabbed the door, holding it open as he shuffled inside. I took the robe off his shoulders, draping it over the back of his chair, then reached for the buttons on the front of his pajama top, working them open so I could check his stitches.

"After seminary, I went home to San Diego for a few years," Dago said softly. I glanced up into his eyes and noted the faraway look. As he spoke, he held his shirt open to the side so I could look at his stitches. "I worked in a parish there and was pretty content with what I was doing, but when the second World War broke out and continued to rage on for a couple of years, I felt like I should be doing something other than sitting safely in my church giving Sunday services and confessions while others were out there suffering and dying."

I re-bandaged his side and led him over to his desk chair rather than his cot, interrupting him for only a moment. "Sit up for a while before I put you back in bed."

He held onto my arm for support as he gingerly sat down, left hand hovering around his right side, but not touching it. I sat myself on his bunk and listened to the rest of his story.

"Rather than go into the army at that time, I felt like I should be ministering to other parts of the world. I'd gone to school on the east coast, so I knew of the Maryknoll Missionaries in New York, so I gave them a call to find out if there were any mission trips that required the services of a priest. This was probably…oh, I don't remember…September of 1941? Around there. They told me they were getting ready to send a group to China and that they did, indeed, need more people.

"Danny and I had stayed in touch very regularly at this point. He had gone home to North Carolina and picked up work in a parish in Raleigh. I would say we wrote to each other nearly every week, and most of his letters suggested that I move to North Carolina and come work in his parish. I have to say I was sorely tempted to, but I knew that to keep myself from sinning with him, I couldn't. I wrote to him and told him that I had been accepted to join the missionaries and would be leaving for New York and then China in the upcoming months, and I think he must have tried to get in on the same trip as well, because he wrote back saying that I'd been lucky to get in before the spots were full.

"He asked me if I would at least spend Christmas with him before I left, so I agreed. I was due in New York after the new year to get ready for the trip and learn about the area I was going to be in, so I figured seeing him before I left was the least I could do. I stayed in a hotel rather than with him, but it did little to deter him from wanting to be together…and seeing him again had weakened my resolve. We spent most of the week I was there in bed together. I told him repeatedly—not that it did any good—that we couldn't keep doing what we were doing, but I was just as much to blame as he was.

"I didn't know where in China I was going to be exactly, so I promised to write him as soon as I had an address to give him so he could write me. He asked when the trip was scheduled to leave, so I told him. I didn't hear from him at all in January, though I'd written to him with the address of the church I was to be assigned to in Tibet. In February, I wrote and told him my official departure date was set for the end of the month and that by the middle of March he could write to me in Tibet. The night before we were set to leave, I still hadn't heard from Danny, but then one of the Sisters came and woke me up and said there was someone demanding to see me. I knew it was Danny, but I couldn't for the life of me fathom what he was doing there and why he was demanding to see me.

"He was drunk as a skunk and causing a scene, demanding that he be allowed to go on the trip as well because he and I did everything together and went everywhere together and they couldn't have me without him. I managed to quiet him down and drag him away from the crowd that had gathered to hear him rant. I was furious and completely embarrassed by him, and told him as much. I told him if he was going to act like a child, then I would start treating him like a child. He told me I had been a terrible friend and he hoped that my plane either crashed or that I was burned to death by the Chinese."

"Jesus, Dago…"

"Yes…well…I knew he didn't really mean it, but it still devastated me. I told him if that was the case then to never write to me again because I certainly had nothing to say to him. He didn't write for several months—like I said in the journal—but when he did he acted as though nothing had ever happened. Danny has was been that way, though. He can never take responsibility for anything he's done. It's either someone else's fault or it just never happened at all."

"So what did you say when you finally wrote back?" I asked, honestly curious.

"Something along the lines of how disappointed I was that he hadn't changed and hadn't apologized, but that I still considered him my best friend and forgave him."

"You're too soft, you know that?"

"So I've been told." He chuckled, then winced. "Ow…stop making me laugh."

"I didn't say anything funny," I pointed out, smirking as I got out of his cot. "Come on, let's get you back in bed for a while. I helped him back out of the chair, but he stopped me from moving him to his bed. He raised his left hand to the back of my neck and I didn't need to be urged forward into his kiss. I cupped his face, fighting against the itch to pull his body against mine as our tongues met. Damn, I'd missed kissing him like this.

When the kiss ended I rested my forehead on his. "You would have to go and get yourself injured so that I can't have my way with you." I teased.

"Yes, that's exactly what I was hoping for at the time." He countered, making me laugh. I kissed him again, and ran my hand through his hair as I carefully folded him into my arms. He rested his head against my shoulder, his left hand on my hip, right arm tucked up against his body.

A knock on his door broke us out of our embrace, but I held onto as if I'd been helping him to his bunk as he called the person in.

"Oh, Hawkeye, I didn't know you were still here," Henry Blake said with surprise.

"I made him stay out of bed for a few minutes," I told Henry. "I didn't think leaving him to try and get up and down by himself would be a nice thing to do."

"Good thinking. How's it going, Red?"

"Oh, I'm okay." Dago answered in that tone that said he didn't want to be a bother to anyone.

"That's Dago's way of saying it hurts like hell."

"Hawkeye," Dago admonished me, but there was no real anger behind the rebuke. I finally got him settled on the bunk and against his pillow as Henry came in fully, leaning on the back of the chair next to Dago's desk.

"The boys down in Seoul got wind of what happened up here yesterday," Henry told us. "General Hammond himself wants to come down and present you with a Distinguished Service Cross award. There was even talk of a promotion to Captain."

I watched Dago's face as Henry gave him the news. His brow was furrowed slightly and I knew he was about to start protesting. I smirked and had to busy myself with helping to arrange the pillow under his head to keep from outright laughing.

"Colonel, that's really not necessary," Dago said. "I mean, I'm honored, of course, but they should save that award for someone who truly deserves it."

"Father, I don't know if you're aware or not but you were wounded yesterday by an enemy soldier in a selfless act of heroism," Henry sounded like he was reading straight from the military handbook on qualifying acts for medals.

"It was hardly an act of heroism," Dago continued to argue. "Certainly not something that merits an award."

Henry sighed and shook his head, knowing he wasn't going to win this argument, and he changed the subject. "Well, can I at least assume you no longer want that transfer?"

Dago looked up at me and we held each other's eyes for a moment before he said. "No. If it's alright, I'd like to stay here."

"Well I'm glad the two of you worked out your differences. Now if you'll both excuse me…" Henry ducked back out of the tent and I snorted a laugh.

"You know they're still going to give you that award, right?"

"I really wish they wouldn't."

I sat on the edge of his bunk, looking at him closely. "Why don't you want it? You do deserve it, you know."

He shook his head. "Hawkeye, how many boys come through here missing arms or legs? How many have you patched up in the OR? How many have been here more than once? I know that half of the soldiers we see never get recognized for what they've done, and they're acts are far braver than me taking a knife in the side. I'm outraged that they would choose to acknowledge my single act when there are kids out there on the front lines getting shot at every day."

Though I did think Dago deserved the award, I understood how he felt and agreed with him. I smirked at him, "You should tell that to General Hammond."

"I just might." His tone implied that he was seriously considering doing just that.

"How's the pain level right now?"

"I'm okay," he answered, this time honestly. "Oddly enough I feel really tired."

"It takes a lot of energy for your body to heal and you're making a conscious effort in the way you walk and move and hold yourself." I explained. "You'll probably be tired for a couple of days. Are you hungry or thirsty at all? You haven't had anything since yesterday."

"I'm really not."

"I'm going to bring you some water anyways," I said standing up. "You at least need to drink and keep yourself hydrated. If I find something that'll be easy on your digestive system, I'll bring that too."

"Thank you, Hawkeye."

I leaned down and pressed my lips to his lips gently before pulling back. "Be back in a few minutes, babe."

I went by the mess tent to see if there was anything edible, but was accosted by Duke before I even made it through the chow line.

"Do you think Dago would teach me some of that Latin mumbo-jumbo he does during some of his services?" Duke asked as I slopped some oatmeal in a bowl and poured a glass of water.

"Is this for your thing tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I thought it'd be a nice touch to, you know, bless the wine." He mimicked Dago's cross action as he said it.

"I dunno; you'd have to ask him, and he's not thrilled about the whole idea."

"Eh, I'll ask him later. He doin' okay?"

"Seems to be. I'm bringing him something to eat right now." I held up the bowl and glass in my hands.

"Oh good, I'll come with you so I can ask about the Latin. Maybe you can help me convince him to say yes."

We headed back to Dago's tent and he looked up as we both entered.

"I picked up a stray on the way back." I motioned to Duke. "Can I keep him?"

Dago gave a short chuckle before wincing and whining, "I told you not to make me laugh!"

"I can't help it if you're easily amused, Dago."

Duke had gone over to Dago's side and was helping him to sit up a little so that he could eat and drink without choking. "Say, Dago, I know Hawkeye's already spoiled our big surprise for you tomorrow, but I was wondering if you might teach me that little Latin thing you do during your services when you bless the wine."

Dago's eyes glanced up at me in slight annoyance. "I told you to keep him out of the wine."

"They overpowered me." I countered innocently. "I was outnumbered."

He sighed softly but lifted his hand and demonstrated, "You just draw a cross over the thing you want to bless. The words are just the Latin translation of 'In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.'"

"Which is what?"

"In nomine patris et filii et spiritus sancti."

"Whoa, slow down there, Red. In no…"

"In…nomine…patris…et filii…et spiritus sancti." Dago said slowly, letting Duke echo the words. Then Dago did his cross action as he said the words to show Duke what it should look like. Duke's cross was a little more sloppy than Dago's and I wasn't convinced he had the Latin right, but Dago sighed.

"That's close enough."

"Thanks, Red." Duke clapped Dago on the shoulder then got up. "Stayin' here, Hawkeye?"

"For a bit, yeah."

"See y'all later then." Duke waved as he left.

"Outnumbered?" Dago asked incredulously as I pulled the chair over to the bed and handed him the bowl of oatmeal.

"I did stop them from taking as much as they were going to," I countered. He shook his head softly and began eating. "So, you went to Tibet before chaplain school, right?"

"Yes."

"And Danny followed you into the Army?"

"Also correct."

"You came to Korea…where did he go?"

"China." He said around a mouthful of oatmeal, swallowing before continuing. "Our army training was focused mostly on spiritual matters, but we're also required to do basic combat training since we could be assigned anywhere. Danny was top of the class in survival and sharp-shooting, and pretty much everything, so he got assigned as the chaplain for a combat unit."

"Have you been in touch at all since you've been here?"

He shook his head softly. "I told you by the end of our training we were barely even on speaking terms."

Dago reached over and took the glass of water from my hand, sipping it slowly before he passed both water and bowl back to me. "Had enough?"

He nodded. "Thank you for taking care of me, Hawkeye. You know I hate being any trouble to anyone."

"You're no trouble to me, baby," I leaned over and kissed him soundly on the lips. "Get some sleep, okay?"

He nodded and closed his eyes and I kissed his forehead before leaving his tent. The actual stray that typically followed me around was laying down in front of the swamp and I put the half-eaten oatmeal in front of him. "There you go, pup-pup."

The swamp was empty once again, so I took advantage of the quiet time by taking out Dago's journal again. His life felt so much more exciting than my own, and I was anxious to finish reading his journal. Part of me kept wondering about Danny how much he must have really cared for Dago. You didn't just go into the army on a whim. I knew things in China were pretty bad, did Dago ever worry whether or not Danny was still alive? He'd said they hadn't been friends for a while, but I knew Dago too well to know that he couldn't just stop caring for someone…even someone like Danny. Or maybe especially someone like Danny.

_31st October, 1942_

_I just spent several days with Tseten at the Samye Monastery, where the Buddhists celebrated Lha-Bab Duchen—the anniversary of Buddha's descent from heaven to earth. I learned that this is one of four festivals commemorating the life events of Buddha._

_Before the festival, I helped to make tormas, which are made from wheat and yak butter and painted with red-dyed yak butter. They are meant to be conical shaped, but the ones I helped make certainly left something to be desired. Tseten didn't mention that the dye mixed in the butter is very potent…I'm still trying to wash the red off my hands._

_The experience was unlike anything I've ever witnessed, and I cannot even begin to describe the Monastery. To see a structure as old as the Samye Monastery, untouched all these years by the civil wars that have ravaged this country…it's inconceivable. The monks live such simple lives, much the way the ancestors of the Catholic Church must have lived centuries ago. Their lives are completely entwined in their faith. I worried how they might react to me as an outsider from a different faith, but they accepted me with open arms, allowing me to observe and inviting me to participate in their rituals. Tseten and several others spoke to me at great length about the meanings of their festivals. Incredible._

_Today, however, was my turn to teach Tseten and a few locals about All Saints Day, All Souls Day, and Halloween. They were all greatly amused by how the neopagan Celtic harvest festival of Samhain and the Catholic Church's tradition of honoring departed souls for All Souls Day had coalesced into a popularized holiday known as Halloween where children dress up in costumes and go Trick-or-Treating. We carved a few gourds and placed candles in them to honor souls in purgatory. I also extended an invitation for them to join us for mass on All Souls Day so that they could celebrate with us the lives of loved ones who have departed this world._

_I've also expanded my vocabulary. I can count to ten, know the days of the week, and even the months. I'm well on my way to becoming fluent in Tibetan._

_JM_

I read several entries by the time lunch had rolled around. Half the time I found myself laughing out loud at some of the things Dago had written about. In one entry, he'd managed to get in a little bit of hot water when Tseten had taught him a greeting, but Dago had mispronounced a word and had ended up insulting one of the elder women in the village by accident. She'd ended up chasing him and Tseten all the way back to the church, hitting them over the head with a loaf of bread. He'd made amends with the woman after learning how to profusely apologize and had even brought her several loaves of bread to replace the one she'd beaten them with.

I put the journal back in my foot locker, then headed over to Dago's tent to see if he felt adventurous enough to have lunch in the mess hall. I didn't want him moving around too much, but I also didn't want him being still for too long. I didn't bother knocking before entering. Dago had been awake and was staring at the ceiling of his tent with a strange expression on his face.

"Are you okay?" I asked worriedly.

"I'm really glad you came back just now," he said with a relieved sigh, reaching his hand out for me. "I've been laying here for the last half hour trying to figure out how I was going to get up and go to the bathroom."

I doubled over laughing as I took his elbow and helped him to his feet. "I'm sorry, babe; I didn't even think about that."

"It's okay. Luckily it wasn't an emergency or anything," he said, blushing furiously.

"Well, let's make a stop by the latrine and then head on over to the mess tent for lunch. You need to be up for a while anyways."

He nodded and leaned on me for support as we walked. Several people were milling about the camp and they all greeted Dago as we headed for the latrine, wishing him a speedy recovery. Dago thanked each one, but didn't stop for conversation. I bit back the smirk as I realized just how bad he needed to piss.

"Need any help?" I offered, waggling my eyebrows at him playfully.

He blushed again. "I think I can manage this alone."

I waited outside for him and caught a glimpse of Trapper as he left the post-op ward. I whistled at him and he looked at me curiously before heading over. "Do you make a habit of trolling around the latrine now?"

"Waiting for Dago," I said, motioning towards the door.

Trapper nodded just as the latrine door opened again and Dago inched his way back to me. Trapper was pulling up Dago's pajama top and moving the bandage to look at the stitches despite Dago's protests. "You know, Hawk, you really need to make him move around on his own."

I opened my mouth, intent on telling Trapper to butt out, but he cut across me and took Dago's hand off my arm.

"Come on, Red, try walking on your own. We'll be beside you if you need us."

Dago gave me a long suffering look. I nodded to him, letting him know I wasn't going anywhere and we slowly made our way towards the mess tent. I could tell about half way there Dago was starting to feel the pain of moving around. He stopped walking, clutched his side and winced painfully. "I need to stop…"

My arm was around him immediately and he sagged against me. I could feel him breathing very shallowly. "Normal breaths, Dago." I was worried he'd make himself light-headed and pass out. Then we'd really be in a fix.

He made a conscious effort to breath as deep as he could.

"Come on, Red, we'll get you the rest of the way there and you can sit and rest." Trapper said, as he slid his arm around Dago's back next to mine. We got him into the mess tent and carefully deposited him on a bench, sitting on either side of him to make sure he was okay.

"That's the longest you've been on your feet," I ribbed.

He gave me a ragged look. "Yeah, but now I have to walk back."

"Well, at least you can rest here for a little while and get something solid in your system." I gently squeezed his knee. "Stay put, I'll be right back."

"Trust me, that's not a problem at this point."

I ran my fingers through his hair as I stood up with Trapper and the two of us went through the chow line to get ours and Dago's lunch.

"Think we're pushing him too hard?" Trapper asked glancing over at Dago.

"I dunno. He is in a lot of pain."

"When's the last time he was given something for the pain?"

"This morning, I assume." I replied, mentally kicking myself. "I didn't look at his chart before I released him."

"We'll give him something after lunch," Trapper said.

"You think the work I did inside is holding up?"

"We'd know if it wasn't. He wouldn't be able to do anything, especially not walk across the camp."

"Technically he only made it half way," I pointed out.

"Better than I expected," Trapper admitted.

As Trapper and I dug into our lunch ravenously, Dago picked at his like a sparrow. He managed a few small bites and some water before he pushed his tray away. I looked over at him and noticed he looked exhausted and uncomfortable.

"What's the pain level right now?" I asked.

"I just…really want to…lay down." He answered with labored breaths.

"Trap, go get a wheelchair."

"No," Dago protested. "I'll walk."

"Trap, go; Dago, I can tell you're in a lot of pain and it's just going to get worse if I make you walk back to your tent."

"Can I…stay in the Swamp?" He asked quietly.

I was surprised by the request, curious as to why he would want to be there instead of his own tent. "It's not going to be near as private or quiet as your tent."

"I know…" he didn't elaborate as a painful spasm took hold of his side and he reach out and gripped my arm.

"Of course you can bunk with us," I told him as the spasm subsided. I would love to have him there with us, but I knew that with Trapper, Duke and 'chuck around, I wasn't going to be able to kiss him or be close to him like I would in his tent. I knew, though, that I was being selfish. Sex was probably the furthest thing from Dago's mind right now.

Trapper returned with the wheelchair and a syringe of pain-relieving liquid and we both helped Dago up from the bench and into the chair. I instructed Trapper to take him to our tent and put him in Frank's old bunk while I went to his tent to get a few of his things. I grabbed his robe, his little prayer book and his rosary beads, then headed back to the swamp.

Trapper was covering him up when I got there and presented him with my gifts.

"Thanks, Hawkeye." He said tiredly as he took the book and the beads and held them against his chest. I hung his bathrobe up next to mine.

"I just gave him some meds, so he'll probably zonk out in a second." Trapper mumbled.

"Feeling better now, babe?" I asked, sitting next to him on the cot.

"Getting there. Thanks, fellas." He said, looking up at both me and Trapper.

"Don't mention it," Trapper replied, heading for his bunk and flopping into it before he grabbed a beer and cracked it open.

Dago gave a tired sigh and closed his eyes. "I feel better knowing you're here if I need you."

I smiled softly and squeezed his hand. "I'm just a cot away."

I let Dago start to doze off under the effects of the pain medication, and moved to my own bunk. Trapper was looking at me with a strange expression. "What?"

"He's really taken a shine to you, Hawk."

"It's my charming personality, no one's immune."

"Uh huh," Trapper snorted skeptically, chugging the rest of his beer before turning over to nap. "I think you're corrupting him. I fully expect in a week's time he'll throw down his Bible and convert to the Church of Hawkeye Pierce. Then we'll have to contend with him chasing our nurses, and trust me...quiet type like him, he'll win them all."

I, once again, dug Dago's journal out of my footlocker, laughing at Trapper's prophecy. I wanted to say he couldn't be further from the truth, but I didn't say anything. As he and Dago slept, I read.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulcahy's POV.

I woke up to the sound of laughter and something heavy across legs. I peeked my eyes open and saw Duke leaning back against me holding a beer. I briefly scanned the room to see Trapper, Ugly John, Bandini, Painless and Spearchucker sitting around, each with his own drink. I quickly surmised that they were drunk and were quickly losing the ability to maintain volume control—if they'd ever even been trying.

I shifted my leg as Duke's elbow dug into my shin painfully and he turned his head to level his drunken gaze at me.

"Hey! Dago Red-o!" He exclaimed. "How's it going?"

"You're hurting my leg."

"Oh, sorry Red." He sat up as Trapper came over, a cigarette between his lips with a line of ash dangling precariously off the end.

"Feeling okay?"

I felt quite uncomfortable around them all of a sudden and really wished I'd opted to just stay in my own tent earlier. "Where's Hawkeye?"

"He's on duty," Duke answered. "Whatcha need, Dago? We're all doctors too, ya know."

"Oh…well, I just thought maybe I should go back to my tent, is all. That way you fellas won't have to worry with me."

"You don't need Hawkeye for that, we can drive you home," Trapper said, flicking ash onto the floor. The two of them helped me off the cot and Trapper offered me his arm to steady myself. "Allow me to be your escort this evening, Padre."

"See you at the services tomorrow, Red?" Duke asked.

"I suppose there's really no choice in the matter," I replied, not entirely keen to witness their mockery of my savior. I can appreciate good, clean humor, and the occasional satirical religious gag, but Trapper, Duke and Hawkeye tended to walk the line of offense and all out sacrilegious insult more often than not. While I respected each of their beliefs, it was ever-increasingly obvious that they had no respect for mine, or anyone else's.

Trapper walked me across the camp to my tent, letting me support myself on his arm, but only just. "Another day or two and you'll be back on your own two feet, Red."

I offered a weak laugh, glad that my side didn't seize up in pain. We made it to my tent and Trapper pulled his arm away, nodding to my bunk.

"Try and get down without any help this time."

I sighed softly, but nodded, moving to my bunk and carefully sitting on the edge. Consciously trying to lie down on your back without putting too much stress on your middle is definitely not an easy task, but I finally managed and opted to just leave my blankets where they were. Trapper nodded, impressed that I'd been able to muscle through the pain.

"Good…now get up on your own."

I looked at him with a horrified expression. Surely he was kidding. The look on his face suggested he wasn't. "Trapper, I really don't think I can move again for at least several hours."

"Alright, then in a couple of hours I'll come back and make you get up again." He dangled my rosary beads over my face. "Better pray for strength in the meantime."

I took the beads, muttering my thanks and he left the tent. His bedside manner certainly lacked the care and compassion of Hawkeye, but I was pretty sure that Trapper was just eager to get back to drinking. That, and the fact that my relationship with Hawkeye was certainly more than doctor/patient or even doctor/chaplain at this point, and so a certain level of tenderness was expected...if not required.

Relationship.

Boy, did that word sit strangely with me. There was no point in trying to call this anything else, but I wondered how Hawkeye would feel about such a label on our actions. He'd probably be horrified and tell me that this was all just 'a little fun.' Still, it made me feel somewhat giddy to consider that I was essentially dating Hawkeye, but not far behind those blithe feelings was the deep sense of guilt. I didn't think his wife or children would be quite so tickled to know he'd been messing around with another man…a priest.

I had to resolve to do what Hawkeye had told me and just not think about it all together. I was guilty of my actions and I would answer to them in Heaven, but—God help me—I planned to be with Hawkeye while I could.

Now that I was settled back in my quiet tent with nothing to do and no one there, I regretted asking to leave the swamp. I knew that I should spend the time in prayer or reading my Bible or breviary. My Bible was on my desk and far too heavy to try and hold up to read in bed, and my breviary…where was that? Hawkeye had brought it to me in the Swamp, I must have dropped it in my sleep. I sighed and ran the beads between my fingers, simply going off memory as I quoted the Beautitudes from Matthew 5:3-12.

I thought about the upcoming ceremony hosted by Duke and Trapper that was sure to be pandemonium. Sometimes I really didn't understand how they could be so kind to me one minute, then turn around and play such cruel jokes on me the next. Maybe they overestimated the bounds of our friendship, figuring that if it was funny to them, it must be funny to everyone. Even Hawkeye had surprised me by laughing early when I'd mentioned the shenanigans with Shaking Sammy. I hadn't been kidding when I said that episode had not been funny. That had been a harrowing experience and I'd been fully convinced that they were about to burn Sammy alive on that cross. Sammy was nearly in hysterics and had wet himself in fear.

Henry had been absolutely furious and nearly had the three of them arrested, but I had asked him not to. I had hope that I could still exert a positive influence over them. I begged and pleaded and chastised them until I was blue in the face, imploring them to simply apologize to Sammy. Sure, the guy seemed to always cause more problems whenever he was around, but Sammy simply wanted to help, and what they'd done to him was inexcusable. They had staunchly refused to apologize, saying something to the effect that he'd gotten what he deserved. I remember feeling so disillusioned and disenchanted with the three of them at that point. I couldn't wrap my mind around how they, as doctors, could have been so coldblooded.

As I lay there in quiet contemplation, I could feel the press of my bladder.

"Oh no…" I muttered quietly, mentally debating whether or not I should wait until Trapper or Hawkeye came to check on me. I surmised that if Trapper came back when he'd said he would, he would make me get up on my own anyways. If Hawkeye was on duty, there was no telling when he'd come check on me. Either way, I ran the risk or running into a potentially embarrassing situation in which I might not be able to get up in time to get to the toilet.

I made my decision and gathered all my strength as I tried to figure out the best way to get up that didn't involve using the muscles in my side.

Somehow managing to inch onto my left side, I tucked my feet up a little and gently eased myself up with my left arm. I was trying to keep my entire right side as immobile as possible, despite Hawkeye's warning that I shouldn't do that, but I could still feel the twinge of pain around the wound anytime I moved a certain way. Slowly I brought my legs around and over the side of the bed. I gripped the edge of my cot with my left hand and shuffled my feet to the side so that when I stood up, I'd be facing my cot, holding onto it for support. I gave myself a minute to catch my breath, determined to stop holding it every time I moved, then finally I pushed myself up until I was left leaning over my bunk. I knew I had to rely on the strength of my legs to hold me up and I was going to have to use my core to straighten myself out, but I was glad I'd made it this far on my own.

"Okay…" I told myself, panting slightly as I prepared to straighten myself out. "On the count of three. One…Two…"

"Dago, what are you doing?"

Hawkeye's voice startled me and I jerked upright, yelping in pain and grabbing my side. Several swears found their way to the tip of my tongue, but I managed to keep them in. Hawkeye was holding my arm gently for support.

"Baby, what the hell are you doing?" He repeated, obviously worried.

"I…ugh…" I groaned in pain as my side twinged. "I have to use the bathroom and Trapper was going to make me get up by myself anyways. Plus, I didn't know when either of you would be coming to check on me."

"Well Trapper's not your doctor, so don't listen to him anymore." Hawkeye said as he gently checked my stitches, then led me towards the door. "What are you doing here anyways? You were still out when I went on duty, and I came back just now and saw Bandini lying in the bunk instead of you."

"I haven't been back here that long. They were all getting drunk and Duke was practically laying on me. I thought it best that I come over here so they could be rowdy without worrying about me."

"Sorry about that," he said softly. "You know how they are…if they're not working, they're boozing, smoking or fucking, and possibly all three at the same time."

I laughed softly despite the crudeness of his words, and he looked over at me pleased.

"Hey…you didn't tell me not to make you laugh that time. That's progress."

"Yeah, it mainly just hurts when I move too much now…or stand up too fast."

He smirked as we made it to the latrine, and I let go of his arm and went in to do my business. When I came out he was casually leaning against the side of the latrine with a lit cigarette between his fingers. He held out his arm to me, but I shook my head softly.

"Let me see how far I can get on my own."

He nodded and walked beside me as I made my way back to my tent. I could smell the tobacco and nicotine in his cigarette as he exhaled. Typically I found cigarette smoke to be completely vile and atrocious, but the smoke from his cigarettes seemed different. I wondered if it was a different brand or just something about Hawkeye that made it less disgusting to me, and conceded that it was probably both.

We made it back to my tent and I heard Hawkeye latch the door. I stood in the middle of the room with my back to him, anticipating his next move, yearning to be touched by him. I didn't have to wait long. He came up behind me and gently ran his hand along my uninjured side as his lips kissed the back of my neck and his body gently pressed into me. I closed my eyes and smiled softly, enjoying the tingle he created as his five o'clock shadow lightly scraped against my skin. When his lips found my ear, breath gently blowing into my ear canal, I shivered. He made a noise of intrigue and intentionally blew again, generating the same response.

"Stop that," I chuckled softly.

"Why?" he asked mischievously. "It's giving you goosebumps, and I like that."

I opened my mouth to respond, but his hand trailed down my stomach and under the waistband of my pajamas, his fingers curling around me. All I could do was moan his name and lean against him as my knees grew weak.

"I love feeling you get hard in my hand," he murmured against my ear. "It's such a rush to know how much you like being touched by me. It really turns me on; you really turn me on, Dago."

He pressed himself harder against me to emphasize his point as his hand moved up and down the length of my erection. I was speechless, though there was so much I wanted to say to him. It felt like it had been forever since I'd felt his hands on me like this and my brain completely shut down any higher functioning to focus solely on the pleasure I was experiencing with him. His free hand came around and turned my face towards him and he leaned in over my shoulder to kiss me deeply.

"God, I want you so bad, baby."

I knew I wasn't ready to try anything too physically demanding just yet, but I slowly turned in his arms, displacing his hand from around me momentarily as I reached for his belt and the fastenings on his trousers. I held his eyes with mine and could see his chest rising and falling heavily. There was a hungry look about him that made me ache exquisitely.

"You don't have to—"

I silenced him with my lips as my hand slipped down and lightly grasped him. He groaned into my mouth and slid his own hand back down the front of my pajamas. We stroked and touched and pleasured one another simultaneously until he slid his hand from my pants and pulled away from my lips, taking my wrist and gently extracting my hand from him as well.

I was about to ask him what was wrong when he lowered himself to his knees in front of me, dragging down my pajamas as he took me into his mouth. My head fell back with a quiet moan and I pulled his hat off his head, tossing it onto my cot as I plunged my fingers into his hair. I felt somewhat lightheaded as he sucked and stroked me with his lips and tongue, traveling from tip to base with more ease and fervor than the first time he'd done this.

Again I was reduced to little more than a simpering idiot, muttering his name along with several incoherencies about how good this felt. When his hand grasped my testicles, I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out as he pulled me closer and closer to the edge of release.

"Oh, Hawkeye….oh yes…don't stop, please…don't stop…"

I heard the words leave my lips before I even realized I was speaking, but I was too caught up in the sublime ecstasy to even blush. With one final swipe of his tongue on the underside of my penis, I was gone. I gripped his shoulders to keep myself upright as I came into his mouth with a strangled cry of elation. I could feel his throat working as he swallowed my ejaculate, gently moaning around me.

I shuddered as I finished, feeling lightheaded but completely contented, and Hawkeye released me, grinning up at me impishly.

"I definitely like it better when you don't muffle yourself."

This time I did blush, wondering just how loud I'd been. "You don't think anyone overheard, do you?"

"Not unless they were right outside the door…and maybe Radar," he grinned as he got back to his feet and brushed his lips against mine. "But even when you yell, you have a really soft voice, Dago, so I wouldn't worry."

"I guess in this situation that's a good thing."

"It's a good thing in general," he gave me a tender smile. "I like your voice."

My blush deepened. Was there anything about me he didn't like? I licked my lips nervously as I tried to think of how to say what I was thinking without turning into a tomato. "I…um…I don't think I can get on my knees, but I still want to…you know…for you."

I could feel my cheeks burning despite my effort. Hawkeye laughed softly, cupping my face as he drew me into a lingering kiss. "It's okay, baby. I don't expect you to finish me right now. Are you in pain at all? You've been on your feet for a while."

"A little," I admitted. "But it's not nearly as bad as it's been."

"Good, I told you it would get easier." He smiled, slipping his hands loosely around my waist.

"I didn't think it was good for someone to move around so soon after surgery?"

"It depends on the type of surgery and the severity of the wound. In this case, the wound was fairly uncomplicated, but the location of it meant that I wanted you up and moving faster than I might have had someone else. Everything you do depends on you using the muscles in through here," he lightly ran his fingers along my side and abdomen near the wound. "If we'd kept you immobile for several days, it would have been hell to get you back on your feet. It's better to work out the soreness and pain of the injury while you're still recovering from the soreness and pain of surgery."

He grinned at me and I just had to take his word on what he was saying, having no experience to argue otherwise.

"Do you want to lie back down?"

"If it's alright, I'd like to sit up for a little bit."

He nodded and hooked his foot around the leg of my chair, pulling it over towards the cot. As I sat in my chair, he laid down on his side on my cot, propping his head in his hand as he looked at me.

"Tseten sounds like he was interesting to be around."

I smiled fondly. "He certainly was. He really enjoyed the fact that I didn't speak much Tibetan when I got there, and he was kind of like you in the respect that he loved a good joke. He taught me a phrase to 'greet' people, and every time I said it I either got a strange look or laughed at. It was a week before he told me what I was actually saying."

"Which was what?"

"May the holy goat be with you."

Hawkeye burst into laughter.

"Obviously not what I had wanted to say."

"Dago, I bet if someone told you 'gullible' was written on the ceiling, you'd probably look up, wouldn't you?"

I chuckled, "Probably. It's just in my nature to trust people…until they give me reason not to."

"I think I've made it to the end of 1945 in your journal. You started writing less and less every year…why?"

"After the first year there, it really became routine and there wasn't much to write about. It was a two-year mission, but I asked to stay because the church had no permanent priest—the services depended on missionaries coming through, and we had gotten quite a few of the locals to start attending services. I didn't want their stunt their spiritual growth by leaving them without a spiritual leader, so I stayed on as head of the church. That meant that I had a lot less time to spend traveling around spreading the Good News or spending time with Tseten, but whenever I was sent new missionaries, I often went out to visit the locals with them, or would go with Tseten to the Monastery to visit with the monks."

"Did you and Tseten stay in touch when you left Tibet?"

I swallowed a lump that had suddenly formed in my throat and evaded the answer. "I didn't so much 'leave' Tibet as I was exiled from Tibet and China on the whole."

"Exiled?" He looked thoroughly surprised.

"Lhasa, where our church was, was kind of a 'forbidden city' in that foreign contact was extremely limited. Our church was the only exception because it had been granted amnesty by the 13th Dalai Lama, Thubten Gyatso. Even though he died in 1933, our church was allowed to remain there, and the Maryknolls were allowed to continue sending missionaries to staff it.

Civil war had been raging in China for years, and there was a war between the Tibetan and Chinese people that lasted several years back in the early '30s. Like everything, it was about politics and land, mostly. While Tibet was still part of China, the Tibetan people considered themselves independent, but they tried to claim land from the Chinese. Eventually a truce was made that drew a line between Tibet and China at the Jinsha River and so long as the Tibetans didn't cross it, China agreed to leave them be. Of course, we all know how well truces are upheld. There were still a lot of attacks by the Chinese on several of the monasteries, even during the years I was there.

"In the last few months that I was there, the Tibetan government enacted a policy to expel all Chinese who were connected with the Guomingdang Government. There were quite a few Chinese living in Tibet at the time, and especially in and around Lhasa, and they knew that this policy was going to cause rioting and protests, so they established a curfew for all Chinese. One of the days of curfew was a Sunday, and the curfew was going to prevent several of the church's members from attending services. I went to their homes and was escorting them to church when a Tibetan patrol came through. They thought that I was organizing a protest. I was arrested and nearly put on trial, but Tseten and several other monks along with the head of the Maryknoll organization all spoke for me. I spent two months in a Tibetan jail—which, trust me, was not pleasant—before they exiled me. Since Tibet was still technically part of China, the Chinese government upheld the judgment, so I'm never allowed to return to Tibet or China."

"Damn, Dago…" he looked amused. "I don't think I've known anyone who managed to get themselves exiled from an entire country."

"Yes…well…the penalty for aiding the 'enemy' is death, so I gladly accepted the alternative."

"You didn't answer my question about Tseten, though."

"Part of that exile means that I am prohibited from corresponding with anyone in China or Tibet. Should incoming or outgoing mail be confiscated, that person would be arrested for treason."

"Jesus…" Hawkeye's eyebrows shot up into his hairline as he considered the implications of that statement. "So, really, if you and Danny had stayed friends, you still wouldn't be able to correspond with him because of the…"

"Right."

He was quiet for several minutes, then he looked at me oddly. "Did Tseten know your nickname?"

"Dago Red?" I thought back carefully. "I might have told him the story once, but he never called me by it. He had his own nickname for me."

"What was it?"

"Dhrog-po-po. It was kind of a mash up of 'friend' which is dhrog-po, and 'father' which is po-po. So I was his 'Father Friend.'"

Hawkeye laughed softly.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, I was thinking…if you wanted…I could write to Tseten for you. Maybe tell him that his 'Dhrog-po-po' is doing well. It wouldn't technically be from you, so he wouldn't get in trouble, right?"

I was genuinely touched by the offer. It had never occurred to me to write to him through a third party.

"Does he know how to read English?" Hawkeye asked in lieu of my silence.

"Yes," my voice was hoarse and I realized I was on the verge of tears. "Hawkeye, it's very good of you to offer to write him for me, but…gosh…I have no idea what I'd say. It's been so long and there's so much I'd like to tell him, so many things I'd like to ask…"

"Well, think about it, Dago. Write up some things you want to say to him, or questions you want to ask, and I'll do the rest." He smiled softly at me.

"You're such an enigma, Hawkeye Pierce," I found myself saying as I swiped at my moist eyes.

"Why do you say that?"

"Every time I think I have you figured out, you do something so out of character that it leaves me with my head spinning."

He laughed quietly and grinned as he got off the cot and knelt on the floor between my legs. "Maybe I like to be an 'enigma,' I like to keep people guessing."

"Yes, but which Hawkeye is the true Hawkeye? The prankster? The lover? The ruffian? The friend?"

"Can't I be all of those things?" He asked quietly as he leaned up and kissed me.

I made a noncommittal noise against his lips, smiling softy.

"You're not easy to figure out either, you know."

"No?"

"No," he laughed softly. "You almost have a Jekyll and Hyde air about you. To the camp you present yourself as shy, naïve, and even a little aloof. But when I'm with you I get to see a whole different side. You're funny and not naïve at all. You've had experiences that most of us can't even imagine—being a missionary, being arrested, being exiled…being with Danny. You're cultured and brilliant and fascinating. You're really one of a kind, Dago."

I could feel myself blushing furiously. "I guess when you put it that way…"

He laughed and claimed my lips again before sobering his expression. "I'm serious about writing Tseten."

"I know you are," I smiled softly. "If I can think of something coherent I want to say, I'll let you know. I can't tell you how much the offer means to me, Ben."

"After reading about your adventures together, I feel like he's a friend of mine, too."

I opened my mouth to respond, but my stomach gurgled loudly. Hawkeye laughed.

"I'm guessing you haven't eaten since lunch?"

I shook my head sheepishly.

"Let's go over to the mess tent and see what we can get them to rustle up, I haven't eaten either."

This time I was able to walk the entire way to the mess tent without assistance, though I was still moving slower than my normal pace. We could hear the drunken tomfoolery of the Swamp as we passed and Hawkeye looked over, trying to peer through the netting to see what his friends were up to without him.

"So, do you know what exactly they're planning to do tomorrow?" I asked as he held the door to the mess tent open.

"Their service? They mentioned turning water to wine, but beyond that I didn't ask." He answered as we looked over the remains of dinner, neither of us asking exactly what was being offered up as food.

I shook my head softly. "Why do you boys always wreak havoc on the rest of us?"

"What do you mean?" He asked, trying to look innocent, though his smirk suggested he knew exactly what I meant.

"The gags you guys pull," I replied incredulously. "Sometimes you really go too far."

"It's just something to do, baby," he told me in a semi-serious tone as we found a place to sit.

"Well, you boys should consider what your jocularity does to the rest of us. More than once Major O'Houlihan has ended up in tears, and Henry is a nervous wreck half the time."

"And what about you?"

I looked over at him to see him eyeing me with a staid expression as he sipped his coffee. "Do you really want to know?"

"Of course I do."

"Sometimes I can look the other way, brush it off, recognize it as the way you boys blow off steam and deal with having to be here…but sometimes it feels really personal, and that's when it's harder to stomach."

"Like the gag with Shaking Sammy." It was a statement rather than a question, but I nodded anyways.

"Yes. Like with Shaking Sammy. And all the times you called me 'Losing Preacher.'"

Hawkeye laughed loudly, nearly falling off the bench, and I looked at him indignantly.

"Hawkeye!"

"You're not serious, are you, Dago?" He asked through a gale of laughter, trying to contain himself as he saw how cheesed off I was. "Haven't you ever heard of Hugh Mulcahy, baby?"

I shook my head, suddenly feeling quite stupid.

"He used to pitch for the Phillies, he was pretty damn good too but he lost more games than he won so they dubbed him 'Losing Pitcher.' I think his record was something like 45-89. Anyways, the point is, I wasn't calling you 'Losing Preacher' because of anything you did; I was poking fun at your name."

I dropped my head in my hand, feeling humiliated. "I wish I'd followed baseball more closely."

He chuckled and brushed his leg against mine, "Come on, babe, you really think I'm that mean?"

"Sometimes I wondered," I admitted shamefacedly.

"Jesus, John," he said with a quiet laugh. "It's a wonder how you could find it in yourself to like me as much as you do if you think I'm so terrible."

"Oh! No! No, I didn't mean it like that, Hawkeye…I just…oh, I'll just shut up now." I covered my face with my hands, wanting nothing more than to crawl under the table and just disappear.

"I can see how you might misinterpret the joke if you didn't understand the reference," he said kindly, amusement still giving his voice a soft lilt. "But I promise, nothing we do is ever intentionally mean. It's all just for a laugh. Except for maybe Hotlips…she's a real pain in the ass."

"Be that as it may," I said quietly as I uncovered my face, least the major overhear me, "she's still human and has feelings, Hawkeye. I know she's 'regular army' to you, but would it kill you to show her a little kindness?"

His expression suggested he was seriously considering whether or not it would kill him and I scoffed, making him chuckle. "No, I suppose it wouldn't… Alright, I'll make an effort to even out my score with her, so long as she gets off my back about regulations and maximum efficiency."

"All I ask is that you try," I said, feeling mildly triumphant.

"You're a bad influence on me, Dago," he said as he took a bite of food and chewed. "Before we…you know…I didn't have a conscience."

"Well, if I've given you a conscience, then my job here in Korea is done."

He laughed and lightly bumped my shoulder with his.

The next morning I was jolted out of a decent sleep by Trapper John as he barged into my tent banging on a metal food tray with a spoon shouting, "Reveille! Reveille! Reveille! Up and at 'em, Holy Man; God waits for no one today!"

I clutched at my side, having sat up too quickly and pulling my stitches. Hawkeye was on Trapper's heels and knocked him hard on the back of his head as he pushed in through the door.

"What's the matter with you?" He sat on the edge of my cot and pulled my shirt up, looking at the stitches.

"What?" Trapper asked innocently.

"You're lucky I can knit a mean stitch." Hawkeye told him, receiving an indifferent shrug. Hawkeye waved him away. "Go play your washboard somewhere else, Spike."

Trapper stuck his tongue out at Hawkeye but retreated from my tent, leaving us alone.

"Sorry 'bout that."

"It's alright. I just wasn't expecting to be heralded awake in such a fashion."

"Try living with him full time," Hawkeye smirked, then put his hand on my knee. "How would you like a shower…or something in the near proximity of?"

"I would love one," I said quite seriously. I hadn't showered since before the trip to the river, and hadn't been allowed to bathe after surgery due to the stitches.

"Good, then get your shower stuff, and come with me."

I eagerly complied and followed Hawkeye to the showers. He moved one of the benches under the row of shower heads then helped me undress before he nodded to the bench, telling me to have a seat. I noticed he was still fully dressed as he came over and turned on the shower over my head. Luke-warm water rained down over me. Hawkeye ran his fingers through my hair, making sure it was thoroughly wet before he tipped my head back a little. I closed my eyes as the water hit me in the face. He turned the water down a little so that it was still running, but barely, then he dug in my kit for my shaving cream and razor, squatting down in front of me as he lathered my face and began to shave me.

I was trying not to smile as I remembered that this was exactly how our strange relationship had begun.

"Déjà vu," he smirked, meeting my eyes and reading my mind as he rinsed the blade.

"I was just thinking the same thing."

"Did I tell you how much I fantasized about being with you?" he asked softly.

I blushed. "You did?"

"Mm," he hummed in affirmation. "When I realized how I felt about you, all I could think about was kissing you. I even did a little self-abuse trying to picture what it would be like with you."

My cheeks were flaming hot.

"I have to say, you're much better than my fantasy, though you were good there too." He smirked up at me. "Did you ever fantasize about me?"

"Not so much fantasize as much as I drove myself out of my mind trying to figure you out. After I knew that I was attracted to you, I became overly-aware of you. I could always sense whenever you were around me, I could tell whenever you were looking at me, but I knew I couldn't exactly say anything. Especially if it turned out that you didn't feel that way about me…"

"Is that why you lost sleep that night?"

"Yeah," I answered meekly. "What about you?"

"Same reason. I was really disturbed by my attraction to you because I've never…you know… like liked a guy. I thought maybe I was cracking up or something. I couldn't exactly say anything to anyone either. I couldn't talk to Duke or Trap, and I figured you'd be horrified if I made a pass at you. When you actually initiated that first kiss, I was completely blown away. I was convinced you'd never make the first move on anyone, let alone on me."

"I surprised myself with that too," I laughed softly as he finished shaving my face and turned the water back up to full blast.

"I'm glad you did," he smiled as he found my shampoo and started to lather up my hair.

We lapsed into companionable silence as he tipped my head back and rinsed my hair, then grabbed my washcloth and lathered it with my soap. He scrubbed me gently from head to toe, barely grazing the stitches, but murmuring that that area needed to be clean too, then stood me up and let me rinse the soap off before he retrieved my towel from a hook and draped it over my head, rubbing my hair vigorously.

"Hawkeye," I laughed.

He pulled the towel off my head and laughed softly, running his fingers through my mussed hair that must have been sticking up in every possible direction. He helped dry me off, then handed me my robe.

"How's that?" He grinned.

"Much better." I smiled. He leaned in, kissing me quickly and we walked back to my tent so that I could get dressed before we headed to the mess tent for breakfast, followed by Duke's service.

When Duke stepped up to the 'pulpit' it became clear that my wine hadn't been the only thing he'd felt the liberty of taking. He was dressed to the nines in my black cassock, roman collar, and long white Alpha and Omega stole that I reserved for special services such as Easter and Christmas. There was no use protesting it now, so I merely shook my head, remembering what Hawkeye had told me last night: this was all in good fun.

I noted that most of the camp had turned up for his service and tried not to be miffed by the fact that not even a 1/3 of those present now ever showed up to my services.

"Dearly Beloved," Duke intoned seriously, and I stifled my laugh as he used the open lines of a wedding service. "We have gathered here today to give thanks and praise to our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Many of you may be wonderin' why I'm up here instead of Dago Red, but this service is also to recognize him for the glorious work he does here at the Double Natural. Sorry, Red, but I gotta brag on you for a minute."

My face was already turning red.

"We all got our own part to play here in this hell hole, and few of us ever go above and beyond the bare minimum that's required of us. Sure we all pitch in when times are tough, but Dago Red has always gone above and beyond his calling to help see us through the day. Not but a week ago, Hawkeye and me were workin' on a kid who came thru blown to pieces. He went into cardiac arrest right there on the table. Dago literally lent us a hand and helped us with an extrathoracic stimulation of the kid's heart—he pumped the heart with his bare hand…no gloves."

There were murmurs from the crowd and Hawkeye, who was sitting beside me, put his hand on my shoulder.

"Anyways…I realized that this wasn't the first time Red's stepped up to the plate and helped bail us out. He's always there—whether it's puttin' in a fix or helpin' us with surgery—we all know we can count on him. I decided to do today's service because, as well all know, Dago stepped in again the other day and saved Nurse Becky's life when that Korean boy tried to stab her. He stabbed Dago instead. I didn't know Dago real well until recently when I started spendin' more time with him and talkin' to him, but he's a good ol' boy…for a bead jiggler, anyways."

"Finest kind." Hawkeye chimed in beside me.

"Amen!" Someone yelled from the back of the room.

"Well, I hadn't really meant to go on like this, but Dago Red-o, you're our own little miracle worker here, and we just want to say thanks. So, without further adieu, today I want to focus on the miracles of Jesus Christ by recreating one of them I know we'll all enjoy. If my assistant Trapper will join me…"

Trapper emerged from the center aisle, carrying my communion cup like some sort of sacred relic. He, too, had borrowed some of my clerical attire, wearing—appropriately enough—my Eucharistic Chasuble that I wore every Sunday during mass.

Hawkeye leaned over to me, "Before I get blamed, I had nothing to do with them stealing your clothes."

I laughed softly, surprisingly not insulted. I found myself even quite touched that they were going to such lengths for this. It might have been a game or a joke or whatever else they wanted to call it, but the sincerity in Duke's words convinced me that they meant no offense whatsoever. I was beginning to see the Swampmen in a new light.

Next to Duke was a table that had been draped with white linens. As Trapper stood next to Duke, holding the cup, Duke pulled back the sheet to reveal a clear glass of water. I crossed my arms, leaning forward slightly, intrigued to see how they planned to turn water into wine. Duke picked up the glass of water, holding it so that everyone could see that it was plain water. Trapper then held out the communion cup which was a solid white goblet with a golden cross emblazoned on the front. He flipped it over to let the crowd see that it was empty, before he set it on the table, then Duke looked sheepishly at me.

"I'm afraid I forgot that phrase you taught me, Red…would you mind to come up here and bless this glass of water?"

I slowly stood up and went to the table standing somewhat behind Duke. I took his right hand in mine—much to his surprise—positioning his fingers, and whispered the words quickly in his ear before adding, "Say it with me."

"In nomine patris et filii et spiritus sancti," we said in unison as I moved his hand in the motion of the cross over the glass.

He grinned at me over his shoulder and I moved back towards my seat to the cheers of the audience. Hawkeye gently butted my shoulder with his as I sat back down. We focused our attention on Duke who picked up the glass of water and poured it into the communion cup. As Trapper swirled the cup in his hands, Duke spoke in an evangelical tone, raising his hands up to the sky.

"Jesus, we ask that you turn this water into wine and let us drink from the cup of your grace."

I heard Hawkeye snort indelicately beside me at the cheesy prayer.

When Trapper nodded to Duke, Duke took the cup and poured a now red liquid into the drinking glass. There were gasps and cheers from the audience and even my own jaw went slack.

"How on earth…" I was asking in disbelief.

"It's not really wine," Hawkeye murmured to me.

Logically I knew that, but it was still magic and it baffled me.

Duke held up his hands to silence the crowd and picked up a straw, showing the crowd that it was an ordinary straw.

"The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh…" he said as he inserted the straw into the 'wine' and gently blew his breath in, creating bubbles that turned the wine back into clear water. Again, I was befuddled, but impressed. I clapped along with everyone else as Duke and Trapper bowed gracefully.

"Now we'd like to invite you all to join us in the Officer's Club where we'll ask Father Mulcahy to bless the actual sacramental wine and say a prayer."

The crowd filed over the to the officer's club, where several dozen shot glasses had been filled with my sacramental wine. Duke and Trapper moved behind the bar and motioned me to join them.

"Dago, would you do us the honor?"

Though this wasn't exactly how the wine was meant to be used, I felt I could let it slide this time and indulge them.

"If you'll all bow your heads, please…" I spoke to the crowd, who all—including Hawkeye—bowed their heads. "Heavenly Father, in times such as these it is hard to remember that you walk with us each and every day. It is hard to see your work and know your glory. Today—though a little unorthodox—Duke and Trapper have reminded us that, even here in Korea, you still work miracles. Father, as we come together today in communion, let us celebrate you each in our own personal way and rejoice in the friendships we have forged here."

I raised my hand and again drew the cross over the wine on the bar, repeating for a second time, "In nomine patris et filii et spiritus santci. Amen."

"Amen," murmured the crowd. I let Duke and Trapper hand out the wine to the crowd. When the last one was passed out, each of them held their shot glass up to me and as one—as if this had been rehearsed—they said strongly, "To Dago Red." Then they drank.

My eyes stung with tears as I saluted them all in return with my own glass and drank.

"That concludes today's services; unless, Father, you have anything to add?" Trapper asked.

I could only shake my head, my throat too tight with emotion to speak.

"Thank you all for coming."

There were more cheers and hoorahs as some of the crowd dispersed while others went on mingling with each other and even Duke and Trapper continued to play their part by greeting people as they left. Hawkeye came to stand next to me, taking my empty shot glass.

"That wasn't nearly as bad as I expected," he commented.

"No," I sniffed, finally getting myself under control. "No, it really wasn't. I'm quite proud of them…even if they have stolen all of my vestments."

Hawkeye laughed. "They must have ransacked your tent when you were in the shower."

"Probably." I agreed. The two Swampmen joined us about that time.

"Well, what'd you think?" Duke asked with an anticipatory grin.

"I'm very impressed, boys. That was quite fun…but I have to know…how did you do it?"

Hawkeye, Trapper and Duke all laughed at my question.

"What, you mean you don't believe in miracles, Red?" Duke teased.

"It's easy," Trapper said. "We put a little sodium carbonate powder into the bottom of your little goblet, making sure to pack it down so that when I turned the cup over it wouldn't fall out. We added some phenolphthalein indicator solution to the water prior to anyone getting there. When you mix that with the sodium carbonate, it turns the water red like wine."

"And carbon dioxide turns it clear again." Hawkeye added.

"Incredible…how did you know it would do that?"

"It's basic chemistry, Red." Duke grinned.

"Well, well done, fellas. That was terrific…and…thanks. For everything you said, and for doing this today. It really means a lot to me."

"We meant every word," Trapper said.

"Yeah…now, do you mind if we go take this stuff off? I don't know how you stand to wear this, Dago. It's hot and heavy!"

I laughed, teasing them both as I waved them away, "That's the cross I bear."

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye's POV.

Sundays were typically always such wonderful days. If we didn't have wounded, we were more-or-less considered to be "off-duty." Though, for the army that simply meant not being more than 300 yards away from post-op in case a situation came up. After Duke's little service, Dago had excused himself to go visit with the patients in post-op who he hadn't been able to see due to his being out of commission.

I was glad that he was well on his way to fully recovering, but I could tell there was still some lingering pain—as was to be expected. He moved slowly and stiffly. He was healing nicely and the stitches could probably come out in a few days, and then a few days after that I knew he should be back to—relatively—normal.

Trapper and I opted to take advantage of the sunshine and lugged our golf clubs up the chopper pad to hit a few balls while Duke decided to write the obligatory weekly letter home to his wife.

"Fore!" Trapper called as he swung. I watched the ball sail over the camp and bounce somewhere behind Henry's tent. Later we would have some of the houseboys go shag the balls for us, so it was good to have an idea which direction to send them looking.

"Nice one, Trap." I commented as I took a drag on my cigarette.

"Eh…I was aiming for the mine field."

I set up my tee and ball, aiming to hit it into the basketball hoop in the middle of the camp on a hole-in-one.

"So what's going on between you and Dago, Hawk?" Trapper asked as I lined up my shot.

"What do you mean?" I asked dismissively, trying not to seem like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

"I mean you guys just seem…close."

"We are close," I answered, hoping to leave the conversation at that as I cried out, "Fore!"

I overshot, then looked over at him to see his look of incredulity.

"What?"

"You're not going to expound on that?"

"What is there to 'expound' on? You and I are close, Duke and I are close, and now Dago and I are close. Is there some reason I should not be?"

"Look, it's nothing against Red—we all really like him—but what could you two possibly have in common to talk about? Unless you're undergoing some sort of spiritual transformation, I just don't see how you two could spend so much time together and manage to fill the silence."

"You'd be surprised," I answered, smirking to myself as I considered just how we managed to fill the silence. "Did you know he was arrested? And exiled from China?"

"What? _Him_? Really? Why?"

I told him the story Dago had told me. I didn't mention that I'd spent the last week reading Dago's personal journal, but the story I relayed was enough to throw off any suspicions Trapper might have had about my relationship with Dago.

"See, now that is interesting. Why doesn't he ever talk about that kind of stuff with us?" Trapper asked as he lined up his next shot.

"Because none of you shut up long enough to listen to him."

"So what else don't we know about him?"

"Maybe you should ask him next time he's around." I suggested, realizing that beyond Tibet and Danny, I didn't know that much about him myself, but I wasn't about to tell Trapper about Dago's past.

After our round of golf, I decided my own wife was long overdue for a letter, so I went back to the swamp and updated her on what was new.  
 _  
Hi Honey._

_Sorry I haven't written in a couple of weeks. I hope you haven't run off with the neighbor in the meantime. How are the kids? Has Tommy lost his tooth yet? Tell them Daddy says 'hi.'_

_You'll probably laugh when I tell you this, but I've befriended our camp chaplain. He's Catholic, but not one of those religious weirdoes. He's a pretty decent guy and overlooks the fact that I don't believe much in his God._

_Life here is still hell, but we manage to pass the time best we can. I'm counting the days to February when my time here has been served and I can ditch this place like a bad date._

_I love you, I miss you, I can't wait to see you._

As true as the last words were, I also realized that going home to my wife meant leaving Dago. I could do my best to ignore that eventuality, but I couldn't help but wonder what would become of us. Would we keep in touch? Would we secretly rendezvous back in the states? Was he even planning on going back to the states? Dago wasn't a draftee like me, he was here because he chose to be. If he re-uped his commission and stayed with the army he could go anywhere they sent him, which meant that in all likelihood I'd never see him again.

Maybe it was for the best that whatever this was ended here in Korea. I loved my wife and my kids, but I could justify fooling around here. I was 7000 miles from home. No one would ever find out about the girls I'd been with, or about Dago. But, back home…that was a different story. That involved lying and planning and sneaking around, which I just can't do to Mary.

Still, knowing there was an expiration date to this thing with Dago wasn't easy to accept. And the fact remained that I loved him. It was becoming harder and harder to ignore that aspect of it. How do you just walk away from something like that? I'd never loved anyone but my wife; this was new ground. A thought flashed across my mind of me bringing Dago home from the war like some sort of stray. I was fairly certain Mary would flip her lid, but part of me knew that she did tend to have a wild side. Maybe this would be the thing that would really get her going. We could end up being one of those strange swinger couples and my kids would just grow up thinking we really liked having sleepovers.

I laughed at the thought, but immediately dismissed it. This would end and I would miss Dago, but life would go on. I would make no promises, nor plans concerning life after the war, and I knew that he wouldn't either. I knew Dago was troubled by the depth of our relationship. The sex was one thing, but the emotional attachment was as new for him as it was for me. He'd said he hadn't loved Danny, and Danny was the only one he'd ever been with…did that make me his first love? What a fine mess this was…

About that time, Radar rushed into the Swamp, breathless and sweating. "They've taken Pork Chop Hill…the wounded are coming, sir; lots of them—choppers, ambulances, buses..."

I was on my feet and following him out the door before he finished. We'd all been fearing the fall of Old Baldy as the fighting had grown closer and closer to Pork Chop Hill. With us as the closest MASH unit to the front, I knew we were in for the longest haul yet and steeled myself for what was to come.

The first wave hit us like a tsunami, flooding the camp with some of the most severe wounds I had seen in months. We worked quickly, living up to our standard of meatball surgery as we cut and tied and snipped and amputated our way through the bodies. Before we'd even finished getting through round 1, round 2 came in with a vengeance. We worked and worked until we were nearly dropping off from sheer exhaustion. Henry was the first to go down. After 22 hours, he'd almost hit the floor, so we sent him off to get some sleep. After 4 hours, he came back and relieved Trapper, who returned after 4 hours to relieve Duke, who came back to relieve me.

As I staggered out of OR, I was disoriented by the fact that it was dark out. Time had measured itself in bodies over the last day. I was exhausted and my feet were absolutely killing me, but a sea of wounded greeted me outside; wave 3 had hit. In the middle, making his way around to each of them, was Dago. Even from several yards away I could tell he hadn't slept either, but his face was set in determination. As much as I wanted to fall into my bunk and go comatose for the next few hours, my feet veered themselves in his direction and I was soon kneeling on the other side of a body, assessing the wounds as Dago prayed in Latin.

"Can I do anything to help you?" I asked wearily.

"No," he said shortly, though not impolite. His eyes had dark smudges underneath, indicating just how exhausted he was. "Go rest, Hawkeye. I'll be fine."

Maybe it was my level of exhaustion, or maybe it was something else, but I leaned across the wounded soldier and pressed my lips to his. It took him a second to react as his tired brain processed what was happening. Though he kissed me back for a fraction of a second, he pulled away quickly.

"Hawkeye!" he admonished, eyes darting around nervously for spectators.

I didn't apologize, mostly because I didn't think to. I stood up, and brushed a hand through his hair. "Don't kill yourself out here, baby."

"I'm trying not to," he said, looking up at me.

I went to my tent and passed out…

"Hawkeye…" a hand was gently shaking my shoulder. I groaned and tried to turn away. "Hawkeye, I'm sorry, but they need you back in the OR."

My eyelids felt like they'd been filled with lead, but I managed to open them and saw Dago leaning over my bunk. "Whatimeisit?" I asked sleepily, rubbing my eyes.

"0800."

If I accurately remembered the time I'd left OR, they'd let me sleep a full six hours. Dago looked ragged as he straightened up. "Have you slept?" I asked him.

"No, but I'm alright."

"Bullshit," I replied, getting up and pointing to my cot, knowing that his body couldn't take anymore. "Lay down and go to sleep."

"There's still—"

"Dago…lay down and sleep. We'll send for you if we need you."

He sighed but nodded, obviously grateful. "Thanks."

I pulled him to me and kissed him. It was rough and sloppy as neither of us were rested enough to be very coordinated, but he didn't protest this time. When I let him go, he practically collapsed on my cot, one foot still on the floor, as he draped his arm over his eyes. I noted to myself that he seemed to be moving more fluidly now. Either that, or he'd simply just learned to ignore any lingering pain.

Dragging myself away, I scrubbed back in and went back to work. We are all cranky, tired, short-fused. Henry decreed that we would work no more than 12 hour shifts, and get six hours to rest and eat. By 4:30 that afternoon, we had managed to get through all the severe cases and were finishing up the last of the non-severe cases. We were anxious to get through the six o'clock hour, each knowing that choppers only came after six pm if it was a severe case. If no choppers came at six, then we could all try and get some rest.

Henry, Dago and I stood outside the OR at 5 til six. Henry and I were smoking nervously and Dago was jiggling his beads. He had gotten about as much sleep as I had before he came back to the OR to help out, but he at least didn't look like a gentle wind would knock him over anymore. At 5:59, we heard the choppers and we all groaned in dismay.

"It has to stop," Henry said in disbelief. "This can't go on forever."

"They'll eventually run out of bodies," I said, throwing my cigarette down and smashing it out.

"Somehow the army keeps finding more bodies to replace the ones we get," I heard Dago say as we all headed for the chopper pad.

The bodies came in for five days straight. We began referring to this nightmare as "The Deluge." Even though we were working in shifts again, we were dog tired and it was showing. I was working on a kid who needed a bowel resectioning after several pieces of shrapnel had shredded his insides. I was down to working with one nurse and I needed more hands.

"Duke, can you give me a hand?"

"Sorry, Hawk, I got my own kid."

"Henry?"

"Not now, Pierce."

"Anybody?"

There was no reply, but then someone stepped up to the table, gowned and gloved.

"What can I do, Hawkeye?"

I looked up into Dago's eyes for a long moment, unable to express my gratitude for his help, knowing how very much he disliked this part. I took his hand and put it on the retractor I was trying to hold.

"Hold this. Pull it towards you." He did as I instructed. "Good, pull a little more…a little more. There! Perfect."

I worked as quickly as my cramped fingers would allow, digging out the shrapnel, cutting out the parts of the intestines that couldn't be saved. Dago and my nurse passed me tools or held things as I instructed, and I finally got down to the part where I could stitch his good intestines back together and close him up. I was tired and fatigued, and once I'd finished sewing up the loose ends, I wondered if maybe I'd cut away too much, or sewn it too tightly. I thought about redoing the stitches, but simply closed instead.

When the last of the wounded had been operated on or tended to, we again waited with bated breath for the six o'clock choppers.

Six o'clock came and we all held our breaths, listening.

"Radar?" Henry asked.

"Nothing sir."

Six fifteen came and again Henry asked, "Radar?"

"Nothing sir."

At six thirty, we released our collective breath. Trapper, Duke and Spearchucker headed for the Swamp for shut eye, others headed for the shower, but I stayed in OR, calling Dago back as he had also been eager to leave. He looked at me with tired, curious eyes, but strayed away from the retreating crowd. There were a few corpsmen cleaning up the mess from surgery, so I was careful in what I said.

"Take your shirt off, babe. I want to see if your stitches are ready to come out."

"Oh…I almost forgot about that." He said as he slid his jacket off and pulled his shirt over his head.

"Doesn't hurt at all?"

"No. It did for a little while when the wounded first came in, but it's alright now. Just feels like a sore muscle."

"Good." I smiled and patted an exam table, watching as he slid up onto it. I pushed his arm over his head and examined the skin around the stitches before picking up a pair of suture cutters and snipping away the thread. "There…good as new. It shouldn't scar too bad."

He looked down at his side, gently running his fingers across the area, before looking back at me. "Thanks, Hawkeye."

I handed him his shirt and he tugged it back on. "Are you going to sleep?"

"I'd planned on it," he answered as he hopped off the table. I held out his jacket and he slipped his arms in the sleeves as I pulled it up across his shoulders, giving them a brief squeeze. "Did you need to stop by my tent for a minute?"

His voice was quiet and the invitation sounded innocent enough, but I knew what he was asking. "If that's alright."

"Of course," he said, smiling softly over his shoulder at me.

We left the OR and crossed the short distance to his tent. I latched it after me and before I could even fully turn around, Dago was in my arms, drawing me into a kiss. We were both still so exhausted that the kiss seemed clumsy, but I didn't care and he certainly wasn't complaining. His hands were on my belt, working furiously. I shrugged my jacket off, then pushed his to the floor before I started working on his belt and trouser fastenings. He was already toeing off his boots, kicking them to the side and dragging me towards his cot by my belt loops.

I laughed against his mouth, pulling away, "What's the rush, baby?"

"The next wave of wounded could still come at any minute," he answered, somewhat breathlessly.

"Good point." I toed off my own boots and we both shimmied out of the rest of our clothes before he pulled me down on top of him in the cot. I was concerned about his wounded side. "Let me know if you're in any pain."

"I will," he breathed before giving me a long, hard kiss, his hands reaching between our bodies and taking hold of my cock. "I want you…inside of me."

The request was barely a whisper and I could feel his body temperature rise as he blushed. Oh how I wanted to be inside of him, fucking him 'til kingdom come. "I don't have the lubricant with me."

Dago surprised me by pulling back from the kiss and taking my hand. He held my eyes with his as he kissed my palm, then sucked my index and middle finger into his mouth, getting them sufficiently wet with his saliva. The feel of his tongue stroking my fingers made me groan softly as my cock twitched with anticipation. I pulled my fingers from his mouth, leaning down to kiss him as I slid my hand between us and began to gently penetrate him with my spit-soaked fingers.

He gasped and moaned into my mouth, making it that much harder not to just ram my dick into him, and finally he pulled back and told me to take him. If the words weren't enough, the raspy, lustful tone of his voice certain was. I withdrew my hand, took hold of my cock and entered him.

There was nothing gentle about our lovemaking this time. We both had a need for release, a need to grind against that blissful ache. I knew I was all-out fucking him, but he was meeting each of my thrusts with his own. Our bodies were slick with sweat, and we were panting, gasping, groaning each other's names.

He was the first to cum, crying out so loud that I had to stifle the sound with my hand roughly over his mouth. The feeling of his body growing rigid with release, his sphincter muscles tightening around my cock, was enough to send me over the edge and I came along with him. Riding out my orgasm, I continued to thrust myself deep inside of him. His own hand had come up to my mouth, and I gently bit his index finger, dragging my teeth up and down the long, slender digit.

We were both panting and trembling when we'd finished, so worn out from lack of sleep and satisfying sex that Dago could barely keep his eyes open at this point and I hardly had the strength to move off of him. We managed to shift around in the cot so that we were both on our sides. I spooned my body against his, kissing his shoulder as I wrapped my arms around him from behind.

"Love you…" I found myself murmuring.

His fingers tightened their hold on my arm briefly as he whispered softly, "Me too."

I didn't think about the implications or the complications of our quiet admission, and simply let myself fall asleep with him.

When I woke up with the need to pee, it was still dark out and I tried to peer at my watch in the darkness, barely able to make out that it was somewhere in the neighborhood of midnight. I knew that I should probably go back to the swamp. With any luck, the others would still be asleep and I could play it off like I'd been there all night. Dago was still sleeping soundly and I carefully extracted my arm from underneath him, biting back the groan as pins and needles pricked from my hand to my elbow. I gave it a few gentle shakes to get the feeling back before I sat up and eased myself over his body and off his cot.

He stirred despite my efforts, raising his head to look at me. "What time is it?"

"About midnight," I said softly. "I need to pee and should probably go back to the swamp. You go back to sleep, baby."

"Okay," He told me tiredly. "See you at breakfast…maybe."

I laughed softly as I pulled on my clothes, then leaned over his cot and kissed him before I left his tent. I tended to my business and returned to the swamp, glad to see that my fellow Swamp-mates were still very much unconscious and would not question me as to where I'd been the last five or so hours. I fell into my cot, briefly catching Dago's scent as my face hit my pillow. I smiled softly, having forgotten that I'd told him to rest here several days ago. I breathed deeply of my pillow, hoping to catch the scent again, but could only smell myself and the staleness of a pillow in need of laundering.

Sleep came again and I quickly succumb to it, too tired to even dream.

I didn't make it to breakfast the next morning, or even lunch, but by the look of the deserted camp as I made my way to the shower, hardly anyone else had either. I showered and shaved, then dressed before making my way to the mess tent. My hands were shaking as my blood sugar dipped dangerously low from the lack of sustenance over the last several days and I practically inhaled my entire tray. I was contemplating seconds when I saw Dago running full speed towards the mess tent, his dog tags flopping around behind him. I was already up and at the door, knowing something was wrong by the look on his face.

"What is it, babe?"

"Travers," he panted. I mentally connected the dots as he explained. "The boy I helped you with. They need you right away."

I grabbed his arm and pulled him along with me as I took off running across the compound. "What's the situation?"

"I…don't know…" he said between breaths. "Duke thinks…you missed…something."

"Nah…couldn't have…" We made it to post-op and Duke and Knocko looked up as we ran through the door. Dago was clutching his side, panting, but I couldn't worry about him at that moment. "What're his symptoms?"

"Fever, high blood pressure, he's pretty shocky, and his abdomen feels tight. Think you missed something?" Duke asked.

"No. Ten to one his stitches tore when they moved him here from OR. Get him prepped, I'm going back in. Knocko, I want you to assist. Dago, go find Ugly John."

Dago nodded and ran back out the door and I headed to scrub room.

Just as I'd predicted, I'd made the stitches too tight and they had torn free, leaving the kid bleeding into his belly. I kicked myself for not having corrected the problem when I'd considered it earlier.

I was halfway through re-doing the resectioning when the OR doors slammed open and soldiers were carried in on stretchers—one of them screaming in agony.

"What the hell is this?" I asked the corpsmen carrying the screaming kid.

"New wave just arrived."

I swore and finished working on my kid, confident that I'd managed to get it right that time, and went over to the boy, still screaming. I knew there was no way we'd be able to sedate him like this and I certainly had no knack for calming kids down, so I sent for Dago as I assessed the kid, trying to prioritize the wounds.

Dago didn't even need to ask what I needed from him. He leaned over the boy, laying his hand on the kid's shoulder and murmuring to him gently.

"I don't want to die!" The boy screamed, reaching up and clutching the front of Dago's jacket.

"You're not going to die," Dago said in a raised voice. "You're at the 4077th MASH being operated on by Hawkeye Pierce, the finest surgeon there is. Trust me…everything will be okay but you have to calm down and let him work so he can save you."

"Don't leave me, please…" the kid pleaded.

"I'm not going anywhere," Dago assured him. The kid didn't let go, but he stopped screaming and calmed down enough to let the gas passer put him under. When the kid was out, his hands went slack and Dago was able to pull free.

"Have I mentioned I don't envy you your job?" I teased as I started to work.

"Once or twice." He tossed back. "Anything else I can do for you?"

"I'll let you know."

It was another 8 hour session in the OR, which was peanuts compared to The Deluge, but still tiring. I was starting to forget what normal hours felt like. I made a trip through post-op to check on Travers and saw Dago sitting vigilantly at the bedside of our screamer, who was still out.

"What are you doing?" I asked softly, stopping at the end of the bed.

"I promised him I wasn't going anywhere."

"Babe, he'll be out for another few hours at least, and when he wakes up, he's not going to remember anything about that conversation."

"Maybe not," Dago said seriously, "But now that I've been in their shoes, I know what it's like. I remember everything that happened up to the point of going under. What if he does too?"

I shook my head, knowing I wasn't going to talk him out of sitting there all night. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

"No…you should sleep."

"I'm getting to the point where I feel like all I do is sleep and operate." I reconsidered. "Or maybe just operate with sporadic periods of unconsciousness."

He laughed softly as he looked up at me, his eyes twinkling even in the dimmed lights. I added another item to my list of things I liked about him. I motioned for him to follow me.

"Come here," I said, slowly heading for the door.

"Where?" he asked, looking between me and the patient as he debated whether or not to follow.

"Just outside for a second. It won't take long."

Like an obedient dog, Dago followed me and I led him around to the backside of the building. It was dark and deserted.

"Hawkeye? What are we doing back here?" He asked in a whisper.

I answered him by pulling him to me and kissing him, pressing his body against the corrugated metal covering the semi-permanent structure. He sighed pleasantly as I slid my tongue into his mouth; his hands ran up my arms and over my shoulders, fingers locking together behind my neck.

"I love kissing you," I murmured against his lips. "I love the way your lips feel, I love the way you taste, I love the way your tongue feels in my mouth. I even like your sharp I-teeth…especially when they graze my cock."

"Oh…" I could practically feel the intensity of his blush. "If I hurt you—"

"You didn't," I interrupted, smiling and pressing my body closer to his. "That's why I said I like it."

He gently pulled me back into a long, slow kiss—the kind of kiss that drove me absolutely crazy with desire. I ran my hand down his abdomen to his belt, but his hands covered mine in a flash and he pulled back. "N-Not here, Hawkeye."

"Come on, babe," I murmured, kissing the juncture just behind his ear, knowing it was one of his weak spots. "No one can see us."

He was breathing heavily, and though his hands were still covering mine, he wasn't fighting me. I undid his belt and felt him tense, but he still didn't stop me. His head was tipped slightly to the side, silently urging me not to stop kissing his neck. I licked and nibbled and kissed behind his ear and down his neck as I managed to undo his pants. I slipped my hands around his waist and gently guided him around so he was facing the building.

"Hawkeye…" it was half a protest, half a question, and I responded with my lips once again on his weak spot. He moaned softly and I began to work on my own trousers, slipping them down enough to free myself. I pushed his pants down and Dago automatically stepped his legs as far apart as he could, bracing himself up against the building as I positioned myself behind him. I spit in my hand and rubbed my dick, then gently thrust myself inside of him. He gasped just as my hand covered his mouth, muffling the sound, and I pushed all the way inside, dropping my head against his shoulder as I groaned softly.

"Is this okay?" I asked, not moving yet.

He nodded and I uncovered his mouth, dropping my hand down to reach around him and take hold of his cock, pumping him in time to my thrusts as I began to move. We both stifled our groans as best we could, but Dago's dog tags were jangling around his neck. He reached up and grabbed them, holding them in his fist as he used his other hand to support himself against the wall. I could hear him panting softly, and saw him bring his hand—dog tags and all—to his mouth, biting his knuckle to keep from moaning.

We'd never done it like this before, but there was something exhilarating and powerful about taking him like this. I didn't want to dominate him or force him into anything, but I felt like I was in complete control of him, and that was intoxicating.

"Say my name," I murmured against his ear.

"Ben…" he half-moaned as he drew his knuckle away from his mouth.

"Say you love me," I murmured again, not entirely sure why I wanted to hear him say those words.

"You know I do," he said softly.

"Say it…"

"I…love you, Ben." Even though he hesitated for a brief moment, I could hear the absolutely sincerity in the words. I felt strange as he said it, like I was somehow lighter, though my insides felt like they were swelling. How could those words from this man have such an impact on me?

"I love you, John," I echoed, pressing my lips to his weak spot once again.

We came simultaneously. I could feel Dago trembling as he struggled to hold himself up against the wall as I pumped his cum into my hand and my cum into his ass. I wrapped my other arm around his chest to help him stay upright, groaning against his shoulder as I spent myself. When I withdrew, Dago's knees buckled and he nearly fell into the building, but I managed to catch him and hold him up until he had enough strength to stand on his own again. He turned around, leaning against the building as he pulled up his pants. I shook my hand to fling the cum off and he gave me a disgusted look that made me laugh as I pulled up my own pants.

"We're getting careless," he told me softly as I pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "We might as well be fooling around in broad daylight in the middle of the camp."

I took and drag and slowly let it out as I considered what he was saying. Maybe we were risking it a little, but I couldn't help myself. He was a drug and I was addicted. I offered him my cigarette but he shook his head.

"I'll try to limit molesting you in public," I finally conceded, knowing he was right and that we would eventually get caught if we messed around out in the open.

He chuckled despite the seriousness he was trying to impose on the situation. "I don't mind it so much…I just don't think it's a good idea for others to find us in…compromising positions."

"No, you're absolutely right, though that would be one way of getting out of the army."

"Hawkeye," he admonished with a slight laugh.

I took a long drag on the cigarette, feeling plagued and uneasy about my feelings for him. Despite my resolve not to question it, I found myself doing just that. "Dago…where do we go from here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean with the way we feel? What the hell are we going to do after the war?"

He was quiet for a long minute, not meeting my eyes. "You'll get your orders in February to go home, and you'll go back to your wife and children."

The thickness of his voice belied the stoniness of his words. He didn't want to think about this anymore than I did because he had come to the same conclusion I had—we had until February to do as we pleased, and then all of this would end. I swallowed hard.

"What about you?"

"I'll stay here for the duration of the war. I haven't thought much about where I'll go after Korea, or if I'll continue to serve in the army as a chaplain."

"If you had your choice, where would you go?"

He sighed softly as he considered the question, "Tibet…but that'll never happen."

"I still want to write to Tseten for you."

Dago's eyes met mine and even in the darkness I could see the glisten of unshed tears. He looked away and sniffed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "I just don't know what to say, Hawkeye…"

I stamped out my cigarette and wrapped my arms around him, pulling him tightly against me. I felt his breath hitch a little as he slid his arms around my waist, knowing he was upset over the thought of my leaving rather than thoughts of Tibet or Tseten.

"Let's just not think about it," I said softly.

"I try not to," he admitted. "But each time you say you love me, I can't help it. It kills me, Hawkeye. The thought of never seeing you again…it's…devastating."

I didn't know what to say to that, mostly because I couldn't imagine how I'd feel once I was gone. When I came to Korea and had to leave my wife and kids, I missed them terribly, but there was always the knowledge that in 18 months I'd be back home with them. With Dago, I knew that all I had was another six months and then I'd never see him again, so the timing was bittersweet.

"Would it be better if I didn't tell you I love you?"

He shook his head. "No…I like hearing it."

I pulled back enough to kiss him, then hugged him again. "We'll think of something, baby."

After a few minutes, I felt him sigh softly as he pulled back. "As much as I could stand out here all night with you, I don't want that boy to wake up alone."

"You're incredible, you know that, right?"

"I'm not," he shook his head.

"You are," I countered. "You don't give up on anyone, you work harder and longer than any of us. You're a rock, Dago."

He was quiet for a moment before he met my eyes. "I have to be."

He headed back to post-op and I headed back to the mess tent for something to eat before going back to the Swamp. Trapper and Duke were enjoying martinis in their bunks. It felt as though I hadn't seen them in forever, but none of us were in the mood to chat much. I wasn't ready to sleep, so I poured a martini, took out Dago's journal and laid back with it, not opening it until the other two had gone on to ignore me in favor of writing home or passing out.

I read through the rest of the entries detailing his life in Tibet, then came to an entry written in December 1948. I realized this must be the first entry Dago had written after his imprisonment and ultimate exile from Tibet.

_December 17, 1948_

_Today is the first day I have felt like writing since I arrived home in the middle of November. I simply haven't been able to face what has happened to me since July. I can still feel the canes beating me in my nightmares…I've lost count of how often I've woken up screaming. Sometimes I feel like I'm going crazy, but I can't talk about it with anyone. I just want to forget, but I feel as though it has been branded into my mind. I see it every time I close my eyes._

_Two months in jail for a crime I did not commit... It would have been longer, and I might have even been sentenced to death if it hadn't been for Tseten's courage and the help of the Maryknolls to convince the Tibetan government that I truly was innocent and that it was simply a misunderstanding. Every day they tortured me, trying to get me to confess to being an ally of the Chinese. I almost broke so many times, I wanted to just lie and tell them I was so they would end the torture, but I knew that if I did, they would simply kill me._

_I wonder what happened to the church, but I can't bring myself to ask. I feel like I have failed in the worst way. Not only the Maryknolls, but God and his new flock in Tibet._

_And Tseten. Dear Tseten. I shall never see nor speak to him again. My soul grieves for the loss of my friendship. I cannot bare to think of him yet._

_Though I am home in San Diego, I have not returned to my parish. I am not ready. Sometimes I wonder if I ever will be._

_Why, God? What is the purpose for this? I have given my life to serve you…why would you do this to me? There must be a reason. I try to have faith and believe that you were with me through my suffering; I try to remember the trial of your Son as he was whipped and beaten and hung on the cross to die, but it's so hard…When the nightmares come, when I remember everything that happened, when I think of Tseten…I can't help but wish that I hadn't survived._

I felt sick and cold as I read the cryptic, angry entry. It was so different from the others, so dark for the Dago I'd come to know. I couldn't begin to imagine what he must have gone through, or how he'd managed to overcome it. When I'd asked him about it before, he'd glossed over his time in jail like it had been nothing, simply saying that it wasn't "pleasant," but I'd never imagined how horrible it might have been. Nearly all of my six brothers had been in jail before—multiple times, even—and to them it was just an inconvenience in their crooked lives, but nothing like this.

It struck me that at this time four years ago, Dago would have been in that jail. Did he still think about it? Did he still have nightmares? Was my constantly asking him about it and Tseten making him remember it against his will?

My mind was filled with images of Dago being beaten with heavy canes and I slammed the journal shut, hopping out of my bunk. I needed to move around, I needed to get the images out of my head, I needed to see him.

"You okay, Hawk?" Trapper asked as I headed for the door. I didn't answer him.

I went to post-op and found Dago nearly dozing off as he continued to sit at the kid's side. He jumped when I put my hand on his shoulder. I felt almost crazed as I looked down at him, filled with anger and rage at his captors, grief and sorrow for his experiences, and all encompassing love and admiration for this man I was still learning about.

"Hawkeye? What's the matter?" He asked, getting to his feet, worry etching his handsome face.

"I didn't know…" my voice cracked under the strain of so much emotion and my eyes were stinging.

Dago took my arm and was leading me out of post-op as I started to break down. I couldn't remember the last time I'd cried; not like this anyway. Unabashed, unconcerned, uncontrollable. He led me to his tent and latched the door, sitting me down on his cot as he sat beside me, rubbing my back soothingly.

"I didn't know…" I said again.

"Didn't know what?"

"What happened to you." I took off my glasses and wiped my eyes and nose on my sleeve.

"Oh," he said softly, understanding dawning. "You couldn't have, Hawkeye. I didn't tell anyone about it. It was a long time ago, I've moved on from it."

"What did they do you?" I needed to know for my own morbid curiosity.

Dago cleared his throat, "That's probably not something you'd really want to know, Hawkeye."

"I need to know, John."

I looked at him and held his eyes he sighed softly, and warned, "You can't un-know it once I tell you."

I nodded in understanding.

Dago sighed again and stood up, pacing the small space of his tent for a moment before he began speaking. "Tibetan jails are kind of like medieval dungeons. The cells are dug into the ground and are one large room with no ventilation, no sunlight, but somehow flood easily in the rainy season.

Monsoon season was coming to an end when I was arrested, so the cell I was put in was about knee-deep with water. They have metal shackles attached to one long chain that goes around the entire room and they shackled my feet and hands."

I closed my eyes as he described it to me, feeling queasy at the thought that he'd been chained up for two months.

"Every day they beat us with bamboo canes, but they seemed to really enjoy beating the ones who screamed or cried or fought back. I found that if you just took it, they got bored with you very quickly, though it never deterred them from finding some other way to torture you. I still have a few scars in various places."

"What did they do besides hit you?

He closed his eyes tightly, and I could tell for a moment he was reliving whatever he'd gone through. "Whatever horror stories you've heard about Chinese torture is also true for Tibetans—bamboo under the finger nails, being tied down with water dripping on your forehead…I saw things done to others that, thank God, never happened to me. People were disemboweled right in front of me. They were suspended by their wrists in the air and jerked around until their arms were dislocated or broken or both. One of the worst ones was some kind of garrote that was tied around a person's arms and legs and a rope would slowly pull it tight cutting them all the way to the bone…and sometimes slicing clean through.

"I don't know why they never put me through some of the other forms of torture," he continued with a sigh as he sat back down on the cot next to me. I took his hand and held it tightly as he spoke. "It wasn't just physical torture, though, it was mental and emotional and everything else. The only food we were given was moldy bread. The only water we could drink was the standing water in the cell from the rain—which was also the only toilet we had. It was a nightmare, Hawkeye…I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."

I wrapped my arms around him, squeezing him so hard it hurt. I understood now why he hadn't written about it for several months after his return home, and why he hadn't gone into detail, and why he had been so angry with his god. What I couldn't understand is how he could go through an experience like that and still have such strong faith in that god and not be an absolute nut case. Had I not read his journal, I would have never known Dago had been tortured so brutally. I couldn't wrap my mind around it.

"How did you get over that, Dago?"

"It wasn't easy," he admitted, pulling back from my embrace. "And sometimes I wonder if I really am over it. I had to keep reading the story of Jesus' crucifixion, and I prayed and prayed and prayed for enlightenment. I was so, so angry at God. I just couldn't understand why he would put me through something like that. It took about six months of constantly reliving it and analyzing it and praying about it for me to come to terms with the fact that it happened and I couldn't change it. All I could do was learn from the experience and be grateful that I had been spared the fate of so many I had seen mutilated or killed. I ultimately realized that God was protecting me from harm as much as He could. He sustained me and kept me alive and kept me sane. I realized that the two months I endured was nothing compared to the life sentences that others are put through—prisoners of war, people who are persecuted for their religious beliefs, innocents like myself….even true criminals don't deserve that—but it gave me a deeper understanding of the suffering that goes on in the world. And that realization is what led me into the army. Maybe I can't end the torment that goes on, maybe I can't bring peace to warring nations, but I can at least counsel and be a beacon of hope.

"There are still times that I'm overwhelmed by what happened to me; certain things will trigger a memory and sometimes I start to relive it. I try to keep to myself during those times, because I know I'm a completely different person when that happens."

"Has it happened to you since you've been here?"

"Oh yes," he said with a somber laugh. "The first time I was in OR, I was so overcome by the memories that I blacked out. I really had to question my decision to be an army chaplain after that. Henry told me that I didn't have to be in the OR if I couldn't handle it, but I knew I was needed in there as much—if not more—than anywhere else. There are certain smells that trigger the memories—like the dirt when it first rains, and the smell of festering wounds. I think…or I hope anyways, that I've been here long enough that I'm starting to get used to those things. The triggers have gotten less and less since I first got here, but it still happens."

"Baby, I don't think anyone could get used to those things," I said gently. "Or they shouldn't have to."

I suddenly thought of all the times I had forced Dago to help me in OR and my heart sank. I remembered the look of sheer terror on his face, the panicked expression, the way he had been so withdrawn and bitter afterwards…

"Christ," I swore, dropping my head in my hands. "I'm so sorry, John. Every time I made you help me in OR…I didn't realize…"

He put his hand on my shoulder, his voice soft and comforting, "Like you said, you didn't know. I wish I could help you doctors more than I do, but I really have to push myself sometimes. When I joined the army, I didn't know I'd be sent to a MASH unit, but…there's a reason I'm here, Hawkeye. Maybe it's to help me get over what happened, or maybe my experience in Tibet helped prepare me for this. I don't know. It could be both. It could be neither. I won't know until I die and God reveals His ultimate design to me. All I can do is try to move forward and remember that time is linear. The past is over, it can't be changed. I have to try and not let it rule my future. I just deal with it as best as I can."

"You're unbelievable, Dago. Really, you are. I can't imagine what it must have been like…what it must still be like. The fact that you've never let it show, that we had no idea…"

He swallowed hard, "Thank you…really."

"I swear I won't push you to help me like that again. I never would have if I'd realized what it was doing to you."

"You needed me." He said gently. "Those boys needed me."

I was awed by him. I knew I'd never be able to express exactly how I felt about Dago in that moment. There simply weren't words or actions… All I could do was hug him and kiss him and tell him how much I loved him. Then, again out of morbid curiosity, I asked to see where he'd been scarred.

Dago laughed softly, shaking his head, but pulled back the sleeve on his jacket and turned his right wrist over. The scar was faint, but visible; a pale line that ran perpendicular to his veins. "One of the shackles had a sharp edge that cut into my wrist anytime I moved or anytime the chain was pulled."

He turned the same hand back over and held up his pinky finger that had a deep, diagonal scar across the distal interphalangeal joint. I had noticed this one before when admiring his hands, but I hadn't thought to ask about it.

"I got this one pretty early on in my imprisonment, when I tried to protect myself from being hit with the cane. It caught me on my finger and busted it open. I probably needed stitches at the time, but…well…" he gave a bitter little laugh, then pulled up the left leg of his trousers and pointed to another deep scar on his shin. "Another caning scar. Most of my scars came from the canes. They mostly liked to hit you on the shins, the feet, the hands, the wrists, the head and the face—places it hurts the most, and was likely to do the most damage. I have a scar here…" He ran his finger just above one eyebrow, where I saw yet another faint scar, "and here…" he tilted his head back and showed me the scar just under his chin. "And right about…here…" he felt around on the side of his head.

I was dumbfounded. I couldn't even think of anything I could possibly say to him.

He gave a nervous laugh, readjusting his clothes. "I always tell myself it could have been worse."

I picked up one of his hands and examined the tips of his fingers, just under his short nails. I could see the scar tissue on the nail bed as well, evidence of bamboo shoots driven under his nails. I brought his fingers to my lips, kissing each of his fingers. He reached up with his other hand and gently stroked his thumb across my cheek. I realized he was wiping away tears. When had I started crying again?

"Have you ever talked about this before, Dago? To anyone?"

He hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. "I tried to…with Danny, but I was still processing it myself, and Danny…well, it's not that he wouldn't listen, but he would get really upset when I talked about it. He developed such a hate for those people because of what they did to me…which I suppose, thinking about it now, is rather ironic that he's serving as a chaplain for a platoon stationed in China. I don't want to think about what he might be doing to those people to retaliate."

I could only imagine, but another thought struck me, "You said if you could go anywhere you'd go to Tibet…even after everything that happened to you?"

He nodded solemnly. "I loved Tibet. I loved the people, the culture, the language, the history… Even knowing what I would go through in prison, I would do it all again in a heartbeat. Their society is steeped in ancient customs, their prisons and punishments reflect that. I don't commend or condone their treatment of prisoners, obviously, but I do have to admit that it is effective. There is virtually no crime for that very reason."

Again I was astounded by his ability to see and know and understand things that the rest of us couldn't. I couldn't say that I hated the Tibetans personally for what they did to Dago, but I hated that he'd been put through that and traumatized so severely. The fact that he would chose to go back there was utterly inconceivable.

"God, I need a drink…" I muttered, rubbing my eyes. I felt like my whole world had been turned upside down. I hadn't expected to hear all of this, or see the evidence of his torture forever etched on his body. How many times had I touched his scars, never knowing where they'd come from, or what he'd endured when he'd got them.

He laughed softly and got up from the cot, going over to the stash of booze and beer that he kept on hand for occasions like this, and for grieving doctors, nurses or enlisted men who needed a good cry and a stiff drink after a hard day. He handed me a bottle Jack Daniel's. I wondered where'd gotten it and how he'd managed to keep someone from running off with it—real hooch was hard to come by if you didn't stock up at the PX, and even then, they rarely had anything this good.

I twisted off the cap and tipped the bottle back, taking a long swig before I passed it over to him. He sipped the bottle carefully and handed it back.

"I told Trapper that you'd been in jail," I admitted softly. "He couldn't imagine what you and I possibly talk about and…jeeze, Dago…I never thought anything like that had happened to you."

"It's okay. If they ask me about it, I won't go into detail about my experience. It's not really their business, but it's okay you told him."

"How come you told me?"

"You asked." He said simply.

I looked over at him and he took the bottle from my hand before taking a long drink.

"I don't think there is anything I wouldn't tell you, Ben. I trust you. That's why I gave you my journal to read."

I shook my head in disbelief and wonder. "You've had such an amazing life, Dago…I feel like anything I've ever done pales in comparison."

He laughed softly. "You've done things I've never—and will never—do, Hawkeye. You've married, had children…"

"Have you ever wanted kids?"

"I never really let myself think about it. It was kind of pointless after I started seminary, knowing I was headed for ordination." He had that look on his face like he was seriously considering my question, so I stayed quiet as he thought. "I don't know, really. I can't imagine myself as a married man or having someone call me 'daddy.'"

"Why not? People already call you 'Father.'" I teased, taking the whiskey bottle and drinking.

He laughed, "That's true, but there's a completely different connotation of the words."

I leaned back on his bunk, studying him carefully. "I think you'd make a good dad. You have infinite patience; you're kind and understanding…"

He smiled softly, but remained quiet for a long moment. "How old are your kids, Hawkeye?"

"Tommy's five. Charlie is seven."

He smirked softly. "Tommy and Charlie? There's not a Benjamin Franklin Pierce Jr.?"

"Actually, it would be the third in a line of B.F. Pierce's, and no…I will be the last of the Benjamin Franklin Pierce's."

He laughed in absolute amusement. "So you're the junior?"

"Unfortunately. I don't know why my dad continued the name. He hates it as much as I do. He prefers to go by Benji, which he tried to bestow upon me before he took to calling me Hawkeye. I tell you, reading that damn book was the best thing he could have done."

"Hawkeye does seem to suit you better than Benji," he mused, taking the bottle from me and drinking. "What else don't I know about you?"

"Better question is: what do you know?" I asked honestly. I couldn't remember a time when we'd ever talked about me…not that I minded. I loved hearing about him.

"Well, I know you're from Crabapple Cove in Maine. I've heard you talk about trapping lobsters with your dad as a kid. I know you like golf and you used to tell people you were the 'pro from Dover' so that they might give you a free round on the course."

I laughed, "I still use that when I can. I never realized you were paying any attention to my conversations. You're quite the eavesdropper."

He blushed, "Oh…well…I never meant to eavesdrop."

I laughed again, "I'm kidding, Dago; but it sounds like you've pretty much got the gist of it. I was born and raised in Crabapple Cove. I have six brothers—all older, which is why I don't understand how I got stuck with being a junior. They're all a bunch of no-gooders. They've been in and out of jail so many times I can't keep up with who's in and who's out. Dad's the captain of a fishing boat but catches all kinds of things like crabs and lobsters. Most of my brothers followed in his footsteps and help man his boat when they're not in jail. I, on the other hand, went to college and medical school because I hate being on boats."

He was listening with rapt interest. "What about your mother?"

"Mom died when I was 10."

"I'm sorry, Hawkeye."

My mother was not a subject I enjoyed talking about, mostly because it still made me very angry and emotional, but Dago had been so candid and open about everything in his life, that I found myself telling him about her.

"She had been sick for a while. I remember my dad would pick me up from school and we would stop by the church on the way home and pray. I would beg God to make her better, promising I'd never ask for anything ever again if he would just make her better. She continued to get worse, so I figured I wasn't praying hard enough, and eventually I was staying up half the night praying, but she still died anyways."

He was quiet for a long moment, then he took the bottle and cap from my hand, set it aside, an moved so that he was beside me. I knew what he wanted, so I stretched out on his bunk. He laid down and put his head on my shoulder, hugging me around the middle. "What did she die of?"

"Tuberculosis." I said, closing my eyes and running my hand through his hair. "There weren't any effective treatments back then…at least in the states. I didn't really understand that when I was 10, I thought that doctors could make everything better."

"Is that why you wanted to be a doctor?"

"Mostly, yeah…" I admitted. "I wanted to help people, I wanted to save them so that no one had to go through what I went through. I wanted to be the one who found the cure for every disease… A pipe dream, of course, but that's my struggle to this day. Every kid I can't save…"

I shook my head, not able to finish the thought, and he gave me a gentle squeeze of understanding. He was quiet again for a minute and I knew he was thinking about what I'd said.

"Hawkeye…you know she didn't die because you didn't pray enough, right?"

I didn't answer, mostly because part of me still resented God so much for taking her and the kid in me still felt responsible, even though I knew—now—that the illness had been incurable. He looked up at me, sitting up a little so he could look down into my face.

"Is that why you stopped believing in God?"

I felt the prick of tears. This is why I hated talking about this. It always rolled around to God and that was something I hated to talk about on a serious level. Still, I nodded, staring stonily up at the olive drab ceiling to avoid seeing the look on his face.

"Oh, Hawkeye…" he said sadly. I could hear the God-talk coming before he even started speaking again and I closed my eyes, intent on not listening. "God doesn't punish people, Hawkeye…not like that. He doesn't take people from us because we didn't pray enough or we didn't believe in Him enough. Your mother didn't die because God ignored your prayers…Death is a consequence of living. The Bible describes death as our enemy, and our destiny. But if you believe in God, you will be given eternal life. John 3:16 says 'For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' God didn't take your mother out of cruelty, Hawkeye. He granted her an end to her suffering and gave her eternal life, free of suffering, in His Kingdom. I know that's not easy for a child to understand—many adults have trouble accepting death as a part of life as well, but in learning to grieve, we grow wise. Ecclesiastes says 'It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to go to the house of feasting: for that is the end of all men; and the living will it to his heart. Sorrow is better than laughter: for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better."

Though I didn't want to hear what Dago was saying, I found myself looking at him, spellbound…though grudgingly. "And what does that mean exactly?"

"It means that everyone dies, and we would be wise to remember that. Death has a profound impact on the living…as you well know."

I looked away as angry tears blurred my vision, but he gently dragged my face back to meet his gaze. "I don't think you're really a non-believer, Hawkeye…I think you're just angry with God, so to retaliate, you deny Him."

I pushed Dago off me roughly as wave of pure rage surged through me. I hadn't meant to dislodge him completely, but I forgot how small army cots were, and he fell onto the floor. I wanted to apologize, to help him up, to tell him I hadn't meant to do that, but I was blinded with agonizing anger at the fact that he was right. I was paralyzed with grief, sadness, bitterness, anger, hate, remorse, and so many other emotions I couldn't even name, that all I could do was lay there as they poured out of me through a river of unbidden sobs and primal screams. I balled my hands into fists, pounding anything I could—the cot, myself, even Dago as he jumped off the floor and grabbed at my hands to calm me. I grabbed him and pulled him to me as I cried.

Having Dago see through me so easily was unsettling at the least. I had argued the existence of God with people before, and had even been told similar sentiments—that I was just angry at God—but never before had it hit home like it did now. No one had ever said it quite so plainly, or with such compassionate understanding. I wanted to be angry at Dago, but knew that my anger was with myself…and God.

 

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulcahy's POV.

As Hawkeye told me about the death of his mother, so much became clear about this man. I felt like I understood what drove him at the very core of his being—he'd never gotten over the death of his mother. It is only natural for humans to shift blame externally, and when the circumstances are so far beyond our control, that blame is placed on the highest authority there is: God. Everyone has done it, myself included…

His story wasn't unlike others I had heard before—men and women so overcome with grief that they question their faith, fall away from God, blame Him for the wrongs done to them. They take it as personal insult, wondering why a God who could heal the sick and raise the dead couldn't answer their simple prayers. I, as a representative of God, was left to try and give them answers where the Bible clearly lacked sufficient explanation.

As I quoted Scripture to Hawkeye, I could see that familiar resistance set deep into his features. Even his eyes were closed in a symbolic gesture to pretend that neither I, nor God existed in that moment, but I knew he could still hear me. Slowly, he opened his eyes and eventually—whether he wanted to or not—he was listening to me with undivided attention. Though angry, I could see him trying to give meaning to the words I was speaking.

I knew I was taking a risk, but it was so painfully obvious… "I don't think you're really a non-believer, Hawkeye…I think you're just angry with God, so to retaliate, you deny Him."

I hadn't expected such a violent, physical reaction as he pushed me off the bunk, but I wasn't surprised either. What was surprising, was the emotional breakdown that followed. I expected to him to yell and scream and tell me I didn't know what I was talking about, but I wasn't prepared for this…

Up until this evening, I couldn't recall ever seeing Hawkeye cry. Upset, angry, brooding, belligerent, obnoxious, cocky…those emotions I knew how to deal with, but I felt completely at a loss now as I sat on the floor, watching him lose control. When he began to strike himself, I was afraid he might actually hurt himself. I pushed off the floor and tried to still his hands, getting clocked on the chin for my efforts, but ignoring my pain to try and ease his in whatever way I could.

"Easy, Hawkeye!" I told him as I managed to grab onto his wrists. His face was twisted in such agony that I could feel my own heart breaking in empathy, my eyes watering at the devastating out pour of pent-up emotion. He crushed me in his embrace, clinging to me as if I was the only thing he had left in this world. I held him as tightly as I could from my position.

"It's okay…it's okay…" I repeated over and over to him. I figured I'd done enough damage with my words, I didn't need to add to it. He needed to experience this, to process it, to let himself properly grieve the loss of his mother, and to hopefully get over his grudge match with God.

I don't know how long Hawkeye cried, but the tears cycled through anger, hatred, resentment, sadness, guilt, and finally acceptance. I recognized them by sound alone because I had been there not so long ago… Finally, after a time, he had cried himself out and was just simply holding onto me. I still didn't speak and didn't make any attempt to extract myself from his arms. I just stayed there, listening to the sound of his breath, and waiting.

"Why didn't he save her?"

How many times had similar questions been asked of me? How many times had I wondered similar thoughts in relation to aspects of my own life?

"He did, Hawkeye…" I said quietly. "Maybe not in the way you wanted, but he ended her suffering in this life."

He took a shuddering breath. "I miss her so much…"

"I know you do…but the ones we love are never truly gone. They live on in our hearts and in our thoughts. You have to have faith that when you die you will be reunited in Heaven. You have to believe that she has been made whole again; that she has been given a new life among God and His angels. A life with no more suffering, no pain…"

"It's just…so…hard." He told me through clenched teeth. "I just…hate God so much. I feel like he turned his back on me and just let her die."

"God never turns His back on us, Hawkeye. He is always with us, even when we turn our back on Him. But He loves us so unconditionally, that when we're ready to accept Him, He takes us back into His arms…no questions asked."

I pulled back so I could look at him as I spoke. "Listen, Hawkeye…I hate saying that there's a reason for everything we experience, but there truly is. If you hadn't experienced the illness and death of your mother, you would not have become a doctor. We are shaped by our experiences—good and bad. You took a tragedy and turned it into something good, despite the anger you feel over her death. I'm not saying she died so that you would be a doctor, but maybe that was a byproduct of God's plan for both your lives."

He closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands against his face as he sighed heavily. "I'm not sure I'm ready to forgive God just yet."

"It's okay…you don't have to be." I told him honestly. "The fact that you say that means you're at least no longer denying Him."

He dropped his hands away from his eyes and looked at me strangely for a long moment before he pulled me back down into a fierce hug. "Damn you, John Mulcahy."

I smiled, despite the seriousness of the situation, but managed to sincerely ask, "Are you okay?"

"No…not really." He admitted quietly.

"What can I do?"

"Tell me I'm not nuts. I've never lost it like this before…"

I pulled back a little, looking down at him and kissed him gently. "You aren't crazy, Hawkeye. You've just never let yourself truly grieve her loss. You were too busy blaming God and being angry with Him."

He blew out a breath as he considered what I said. "You make me feel so transparent."

I shook my head, "I just know what that kind of anger looks like. I've seen it in others, and I've been there myself. Eventually it has to manifest itself…or it really will drive you crazy. All it takes is someone saying the right—or the wrong—thing."

He sighed wearily and closed his eyes. "Can we stop talking about this now?"

"Of course." I knew he'd had enough for one night.

"I feel like I'm with a goddamn head shrink."

I didn't take insult, knowing it wasn't meant as one, and I laid back down against his shoulder, running my hand back and forth over his chest. He was quiet and still. After a few moments, I wondered if he might have fallen asleep, but simply closed my own eyes and reflected on the past hour we'd been in my tent.

If I had to describe Hawkeye in one word, it would be 'intense.' He had such intense emotions that half the time I felt shaken by his raw passion. His love, his anger, his sadness…he never did anything half-heartedly, which seemed so strange for someone I considered to be so blasé about life in general. It made me pause in wonder at the sheer depth of his personality, and I remembered even having this conversation with him not so long ago when I'd told him he was such an enigma to me. Boy, did that ever ring true…

"You really think that God would forgive me for everything I've ever done and said about him?"

His question surprised me. "I know He would, Hawkeye…He already has."

He turned on his side, facing me and pressed his forehead against mine, his eyes still closed. "Tell me about your family, Dago."

"My family?" I thought about my own family for a long moment. "There isn't much to tell. My father was an alcoholic—"

"Was?" He interrupted, opening his eyes to look at me.

I shrugged slightly, "He died about 12 years ago."

"Oh…I'm sorry." He said softly.

"Don't be. We weren't close. I was a constant disappointment to him—I didn't play football or baseball, I didn't choose a traditional career, I was quiet and liked books. He doted on my older brother who did play sports, and became a mechanic, and was what my dad called 'a man's man.' My brother is married and has three children that I haven't seen since I was last in San Diego. He and I aren't very close either, but we get along. My mother is a school teacher. She remarried, and she and my step-father live in Fresno. I've never told her about what happened in Tibet. She thinks I went home by choice in order to join the army."

"Where did you go when you got home? Your journal said you went back to San Diego, but didn't return to your church."

"I stayed with my brother for a while, but I knew that I was putting a strain on them by my refusal to talk about what happened, and my waking up in the middle of the night screaming. I went back to the church after that, but—like I said—after about six months I started to come to terms with it and that's when I decided to join the army and go to chaplain school."

"Where was Danny during all of this?"

"North Carolina. I had written to him to tell him I was home so he wouldn't keep writing to me in Tibet. I didn't tell him why, either, and for several months I didn't respond to any of his letters because I was so absorbed in the aftermath of what happened to me, I just wasn't functioning on any level, really. The next thing he knew I was talking about chaplain school, and that first day was the first time I'd seen him since that night in New York. He knew something had happened to me. He knew right away, really. He told me I looked 'haunted.' He needled me again and again to tell him, and when I finally was able to start talking about it, he didn't want to hear it because it made him so angry. I think maybe he felt responsible. Like if he'd been there with me he could have protected me, or that maybe it might not have ever happened."

"Do you think that's why he became so aggressive with you? Because he was so angry about what happened?"

I considered the question carefully for several moments, turning on my back to look up at the ceiling. "I don't know. Possibly, but I think he was just unstable all together. He'd always been aggressive sexually, but it wasn't until then that he started threatening me. I guess really it started in New York and just progressed from there. I don't know, Hawkeye. I've never been able to understand him."

Hawkeye rested his chin on my shoulder as he looked at me. "I think he had an obsession with you."

I gave him an incredulous look, "Obviously."

"No, really," he countered in a serious tone. "I can kind of understand it; maybe not to that extreme, but there've been times over the last few weeks were I've felt completely infatuated with you. There's just something about you. Who knows…maybe it'll drive me crazy too."

"I sincerely hope not."

He laughed softly, clearly teasing about the last bit, but I turned my head to look at him curiously.

"You really felt infatuated with me?"

He nodded, smirking. "Still do."

I sighed and shook my head. "I really don't see why."

"Mmm…" he smiled and found my neck with his lips. "You don't have to see why, but just know… 'My story is much too sad to be told, but practically everything leaves me totally cold. The exception I know is the case when I'm out on a quiet spree, fighting vainly the old ennui, and I suddenly turn and see your fabulous face. I get no kick from champagne. Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all. So tell me why should it be true that I get a kick out of you. Some, they may go for cocaine. I'm sure that if I took even one sniff it would bore me terrifically, too. Yet I get a kick out of you."

I smiled as he sang the words in his deep, sultry voice against my ear. I laughed softly at his slightly out-of-tune attempt to woo me and nudged him with my elbow, blushing as I told him to, "Knock it off…"

He wrapped his arms tighter around me, crooning more dramatically, "I get a kick every time I see you standing there before me. I get a kick though it's clear to see you obviously do not adore me."

"Hawkeye…" I chortled, pushing him off of me.

He laughed, "What's the matter? Don't you like my singing?"

"Well, I just wouldn't quit your day job, if I were you." I teased.

"Hey!" He laughed in mock offense. "Here I am, singing you a beautiful song from the bottom of my heart and all you can say is 'don't quit your day job?' That's real nice of you, Dago."

I couldn't help but laugh. "You're right, I'm sorry. It was unlike anything I've ever heard before."

"Your praise is overwhelming." He deadpanned, leaning in to kiss me, quieting my laugh as his tongued slipped in my mouth, sensually. I was breathless by the time he pulled back, looking at me with a solemn expression. "Thank you…for letting me lose my mind."

I pushed his mussed hair off his forehead, planting a gentle kiss along his brow. "I told you when you first got here that I'm here to help."

"It's more than that, baby," he said softly. "I haven't told that story to very many people."

I knew what he was saying, that talking about it was difficult because he'd always been afraid of losing control of his emotions, and tonight he finally had. "Wasn't it you who told me not so long ago that we all have a breaking point?"

"I guess I did," he said thoughtfully. "But I'm not the one who ends up in tears, usually."

"There isn't anything wrong with crying, Hawkeye."

"My dad would disagree."

"Mine would have too, but they aren't here and they haven't been through what we have."

He gave a sad laugh as he looked away from me. "At least not what you've been through. Nothing in my life comes close to that, Dago."

"Don't discredit your own suffering, Hawkeye. There's always someone out there who has it worse than we do, but that doesn't mean we have to trivialize what we've endured."

Hawkeye reached across me for my hand, pulling me along with him as he rolled onto his back. I shifted so that I was laying on top of him. I dropped my lips to his as his hands slid around my back, pulling up the tail of my jacket and untucking my shirt from my pants, fingers splaying out across my lower back. His hands were warm against my skin, soft and gentle as they moved down along my spine to the waistband of my trousers. He sucked on my tongue as his hand caressed my backside through my pants.

"Have I mentioned you have a nice ass?"

I blushed. "I don't recall so, no."

"Mmm…well, you do." He said before reclaiming my lips.

I was starting to get that dizzy feeling that I associated with arousal and I pulled back from his lips. "I have to get back to post-op, Hawkeye."

"No, you don't," he countered in a soft, slow drawl.

"Yes, I do." I echoed his tone, stealing a lasting kiss before I pushed off of him. He groaned at the loss of contact and gave me a long-suffering look. "I still want to be there when that boy wakes up."

He sighed and propped his head up on his hand as he turned on his side to watch me tuck my shirt back in. "I guess I can't begrudge some wounded kid for stealing you away… However, I think you should sing me a song before you go."

I looked at him reticently, "Hawkeye, I'm not going to sing to you."

"Why not? It's only fair, Dago. I sang to you." He stood up and blocked the door, crossing his arms defiantly. "Besides, you're the choir boy. You've probably got a much better singing voice than I have."

"I was never a choir boy," I couldn't help but laugh softly.

"Well, I still bet you have a nice singing voice. And don't tell me you don't sing, Dago. It's a requirement as a priest. You have to sing all those hymns."

"That's not so much singing as it is learning to speak lyrically."

"I'm not letting you leave until you sing," he argued, then stepped forward wrapping one hand around my waist as he took hold of my right hand. "Come on, I'll even dance with you."

"Hawkeye!" I laughed in protest as he started humming a random tune, leading me into a slow dance. "Has anyone ever told you're impossible?"

"Once or twice," he smirked, still trying to get me to dance. "Come on, baby…what songs do you know?"

"If I say 'none' can I leave?"

"Nope. Fair is fair." He reiterated.

"You're a hopeless romantic, aren't you?" I asked with sincere amusement, then reconsidered. "Either that or a masochist."

His head fell back as he laughed and he stopped trying to move me around the floor, though he didn't let go of me. When he looked back at me, his eyes were shining with mirth and adoration. "I always feel so different when I'm with you, John. You make me forget we're in the middle of a war."

I wasn't sure what to say to that. I was glad I could make him as happy as he always made me. The words of Perry Como's 'Till the End of Time' filtered into my head, and though I was blushing furiously, I began to softly sing them to Hawkeye.

"Till the end of time, long as stars in the blue, long as there's a spring of birds to sing I'll go on loving you."

His lips curled into a soft, satisfied smile and he pulled me close again, moving his body against mine to the slow rhythm of the song as I sang.

"Till the end of time, long as roses bloom in May, my love for you will grow deeper with every passing day. Till the wells run dry and each mountain disappears, I'll be there for you to care for you through laughter and through tears. So take my heart in sweet surrender, and tenderly say I'm the one you love and live for, till the end of time."

As the last note died away, Hawkeye leaned in and kissed me gently, letting it linger on for several moments before he pulled back. "See? Was that so hard?"

I rolled my eyes and shook my head, making him laugh and he gave me another quick kiss before releasing me altogether. "Come on, baby, I'll walk you to post-op."

It was early morning by the time the boy had woken up. I had managed to doze off in the chair beside his bed, but woke up when I heard a voice ask me, "Did I make it?"

I blinked my eyes open to see him looking at me with that disconcerted look that most patients had after having been put under for surgery, not sure where they were or if they were alright. I sat forward in the chair and placed my hand on his shoulder. "If you didn't make it, then we both have a problem."

He gave me a weary smile as he relaxed back into his pillow.

"What's your name?" I asked, even though I'd already seen it on his chart. I still believed in proper introductions, giving them the chance to tell me about themselves.

"Private Mitchell, sir. Paul Mitchell."

"Nice to meet you, Paul. I'm Father John Mulcahy, I'm the chaplain here."

"Thanks for staying with me, Father. I've never been wounded…I thought I was gonna die."

"Well, you came to the right place to get fixed up, Paul. The doctor's here are the best in Korea."

"Sorry to interrupt, Dago, but it's time to check up on Private Mitchell here and give him some meds." One of the nurses said gently as she came over to Paul's bedside.

"I'll be back later to check in on you," I told the boy. "But if you need anything, just ask."

"Thanks, Father."

I nodded to him and the nurse, then got up, heading out of post-op. The sun was just rising over the hills, hidden behind a thin layer of clouds and shrouding the camp in muted grey tones. It would rain later…

I headed towards the mess tent for breakfast, and was surprised to see Hawkeye sitting outside of the Swamp in a pair of cut off shorts, a bathrobe and his hat, smoking a cigarette as he read my journal. He didn't appear to notice me until I was close enough to enter his peripheral vision.

"Don't tell me you stayed up all night reading that, Hawkeye."

He looked up at me, blowing a line of smoke out of the side of his mouth and smiled softly. "No, I've only been up for about half an hour. Duke has a habit of getting up to take a piss, and he likes to do it right here in front of the swamp, typically. Usually I can fall back asleep, but between him and Trapper's snoring, I couldn't…so I came out here to try and finish your journal. Did that kid finally wake up?"

"He did." I put my hands in my pockets nervously as we looked at one another, neither having much of anything to say, but still enjoying each others presence. "I was just headed over to the mess tent to see if there was anything edible. Would you care to join me?"

"Sure, let me stick this back in my foot locker real quick." He got up, touching my arm as he move passed me and into the swamp. I waited outside for him, turning when I heard the door creak open again, and surprised when he held out my breviary to me. "Here, I've been meaning to give this back to you. I found it a while ago, but with all the damn wounded, I kept forgetting I had it."

"Thanks," I told him kindly, pocketing the book.

"I had fun last night," he said as we walked. I glanced over to see him smirking softly. "I can't get that song out of my head."

"You asked for it," I teased, mirroring his smirk.

"I didn't say it was a bad thing," he countered. "You have a nice singing voice."

I scoffed and held the door to the mess tent open for him, my cheeks flushing in embarrassment at his compliment. We got our trays and coffee and sat down across from each other at one of the tables.

"Chaplain school sounds like it was incredibly boring," he said as he bit into a piece of toast.

"It was intriguing in its own right," I replied. "Mostly it was learning how to minister to those of other faiths, but I pretty much had already done that. I learned a few things, but not much. It was more learning how to counsel those who were shell shocked. There was a lot of psychology involved in our training—teaching us how to recognize who should qualify for a Section 8, and things like that, even though that's not our primary duty here."

"I guess you have more one-on-one contact with them than any of the rest of us," he said thoughtfully. "I mean, we don't deal with the spiritual and emotional crisis's like you do."

"Not as much, no; but even I feel unprepared sometimes to help them. I'm not a psychiatrist, or even a psychologist. I'm just a spiritual leader and counselor. I can listen and give advice and comfort, but I can't help the ones who've gone off the deep end."

"I don't know about that…you helped me last night."

"I would hardly classify that as 'going off the deep end,' Hawkeye. It was overwhelming to see you in such a state, but I didn't feel out of my league in offering you solace."

"Uh oh," Hawkeye said, glancing at something over my shoulder. I turned to look and saw a jeep pulling into the compound with Brigadier General Hamilton Hartington Hammond in the passenger seat. Radar was already rushing up to greet the jeep, with Henry Blake not far behind, still buttoning his shirt. "Looks like they might not have forgotten about that medal of honor after all, Dago."

Sure enough, we watched as Radar led the General and Colonel Blake into the mess tent and over to our table.

"General, let me introduce our chaplain, Father John Mulcahy." Henry said, trying to sound important at the introductions, though the General and I had met on several occasions whenever he saw fit to visit the 4077th.

"Yes, I remember Father Mulcahy," he said as I half stood to shake his hand. "Nice to see you've recovered, Father."

"Yes, thank you, General. How are you?"

"Oh, fine, fine." Hammond seemed to notice Hawkeye for the first time, his face showing great disdain. "Pierce."

"Good morning, General." Pierce greeted with false cheerfulness, just to spite Hammond.

"We'd like to have a little ceremony, Father, in order to present you with a distinguished medal of honor for your act of—"

"That's not necessary, General." I interrupted curtly. I could see Radar, Henry and Hammond all gawk at me in surprise. Hawkeye snorted a quiet laugh into his coffee cup. "I appreciate the thought, but you shouldn't reward my small act when our post-op ward is flooded with soldiers who nearly lost their lives on the front lines."

"Of course we'd like to give them all medals, Father, but they're soldiers, you're a chaplain. They proudly march into battle, but men like you aren't trained to fight."

"I beg your pardon, General, but I received combat training just like those soldiers we operate on. I may be just a chaplain, but we are all part of the same Army. Whether I'm here at a MASH unit, or serving with a platoon, my 'acts of bravery' are no more worthy of recognition than theirs. So you can just keep your damn medal."

I hadn't intended on being so cantankerous, but I was incensed by the fact that a general would try to make a distinction between my duty and the duties of the soldiers who actually fought every day of their lives. When I finished speaking, Hawkeye—and several others who had been watching the exchange—applauded me. The General was red-faced and irate as he turned on his heel and stalked out, with Henry trotting along behind him, trying to profusely apologize. Radar was still standing there.

"Gee, Father, no one's ever stood up to a General like that." He said softly.

I could only shrug, feeling my face turning red in embarrassment. When he wandered off, I met Hawkeye's amused gaze.

"My only regret," he said, smirking. "Is that you got to tell him off before I did."

"I warned Henry," I said, trying to justify my rant.

He chuckled, "Yeah, but I don't think he thought you were serious."

It wasn't long before the General left the camp in a huff and I was called into Henry's office to reap the consequences of my actions. Henry was pacing behind his desk as I stood there, listening to him stutter angrily.

"Damn it, D-Dago; Hammond c-c-came all the way out h-here to g-give you that medal, and y-you go and insult the whole d-damn army."

"I didn't insult the army, Henry" I countered calmly. "I was merely pointing out the fact that my job may be different from that of a soldier, but I shouldn't get recognition for getting wounded in combat. Not that I call what happened combat."

"Why didn't you just t-take the damn medal?"

"Because it wasn't right. Come on, Henry. You and I have been at this MASH unit since it was established. Do you really feel that what I did deserves a medal over all the wounded we've seen come through here?"

"I don't decide who gets a m-medal, Dago; that's up to big wigs."

"Well, maybe my refusal to accept the award will help open their eyes to how unjust their award system is."

"D-Don't hold your breath." Henry sighed. "L-Look, Dago, the award is one thing, but they've promoted you to Captain, and that's not something you can refuse."

He dug around his desk and found a set of captain's bars, tossing them to me. I caught them—much to my own surprise—and looked at the silver double bar insignia in my hand. If the promotion had been for any other reason, I might have been happy to get it, but I still felt indignant and ungrateful for it.

When I left Henry's office, Hawkeye, Duke, Trapper, Spearchucker and several others had started a small football game in the middle of the compound. It was Spearchucker who spotted me as I headed for my tent.

"Hey, Dago Red! We need one more player to even out the teams."

"Thanks, but you guys really don't want me to play, unless you like to lose."

"Ah, come on, Red," Duke said as he, Trapper and Hawkeye all fell in a semi-circle around me. "We're all out of practice, too."

"That's putting it mildly," Painless huffed as he came up and leaned on Hawkeye, breathlessly.

"What's that?" Hawkeye indicated to the captain's bars currently clenched in my fist.

"Oh…" I unfurled my hand and held them out for the boys to see. "They promoted me to Captain."

"You don't sound too happy about that," Spearchucker noted.

"No, not really. They should have given to someone who deserves to be promoted."

"Well, none of us have done much of anything to deserve to be Captain's either," Duke said. "And none of us can even say we've been stabbed to get it."

"Well," Hawkeye spoke up, stepping forward and taking my Captain's bars from my hand. "If any of us degenerates deserve to be called a Captain, I think it's you, Dago."

"Hear! Hear!" Trapper bellowed.

Hawkeye removed one of my chaplain's crosses from my lapel and placed the captain's bars there instead, straightening the collar back out before he stepped back in line with the others and, in his best imitation of a true army commander, called out "Ten-hut!"

Hawkeye, Trapper, Duke, Spearchucker, Painless and the others snapped to attention in front of me. I felt my face redden as others in the compound stopped to see what was going on.

"Company, salute!" Hawkeye called out. In unison, they all saluted me.

I was touched as I noted that they were all quite serious in their recognition and respect. I raised my own hand to salute them in return, meeting Hawkeye's eyes and noting the soft smile on his lips.

"Now that that's settled, you're on my team, Red," Duke said. "You can be our left wing."

They quickly explained the rules of their version of touch football, and what it was I was expected to do as a 'left wing,' defined the goals, then we all got into formation on our respective teams. Painless was the closest guy on my team, and I noted Hawkeye was on the opposite team with Spearchucker.

"Hawkeye and Spearchucker are probably going to be the ones carrying the ball," Painless said to me as Hawkeye's team strategized in a huddle. "And—no offense, Dago—but they'll probably try and run up through the two of us since they know you'll probably just get out of the way rather than try and take the ball."

"So what should I do?"

"Try and get the ball," he said plainly. "You don't have to tackle them or anything, but if you can get the ball, get it. And if you get it, pass it to me or Duke before they get it back."

It sounded simple enough. The other team lined up with Spearchucker and Hawkeye in the middle. The ball was given to Hawkeye, who fell back as his teammates rushed forward. Bandini was my direct opposite and I saw him coming towards me as Hawkeye looped around behind and started running up towards me and Painless, just as Painless predicted. With both men bearing down on me, I had no idea who to focus on, but Painless was shoulder to shoulder with someone else. Just as Bandini made a dive for me, I dodged to the right, narrowly avoiding being caught around the middle by him, and focused on Hawkeye, who was hugging the ball against him. I stood my ground, anticipating him as he ran at me, trying to figure out the best way to get the ball from him, but was knocked to the side by Bandini, who had obviously managed to turn around and come back at me. As the two of us toppled to the ground, Hawkeye jumped over us, running unhindered to score a point. My hip smarted where it had hit the hard ground, but I ignored it as Bandini and Painless both pulled me to my feet.

"Sorry, Red," Bandini apologized sheepishly.

"It's okay. I'm new at this."

"You had me worried there for a second," Hawkeye's voice sounded as he jogged up and lightly smacked the back of my head playfully. "I thought you might actually get the ball from me. Be sure and keep your eyes on him at all times. If he gets you down, that gives me a hole to get through."

"Don't be coachin' my teammates," Duke hollered down the line. "I don't need you fillin' his head with your nonsense. Don't listen to whatever he said, Dago…unless it was good advice, then listen to it."

Hawkeye laughed as he and Bandini jogged back to their side of the 'field' and the rest of us reset our formation. Though they'd managed to score again, they hadn't made the same play. By the time our team finally managed to get the ball, the rain I had predicted was starting to fall, but it didn't seem to be deterring anyone.

The ground was starting to turn to mud, making it more treacherous to run around without slipping. Bandini's lanky, uncoordinated body was hard to hold onto, and several times my feet came out from under me as I tried to keep him from going after whoever had the ball. I had long since shed my jacket, and had even taken off the button down army shirt, leaving me in my typical black t-shirt and trousers. Some of the other guys had stripped down to bare chests, while the rest were wearing army issued olive drab t-shirts. Not one of us was clean. We were all covered head to toe with mud and grim. As disgusting as I felt—and probably looked—I had to admit that I was having fun.

When Hawkeye's team tried to run a play between myself and Painless, we were ready this time. Painless took on his guy, crashing him into Bandini and all three of them went sprawling in the mud as Hawkeye ran up around them towards me. We locked eyes and I saw him smirk slightly as he leaned further over the ball, barreling towards me. I braced myself and Hawkeye's shoulder caught me in the chest, knocking me back, but I managed to grab onto him. He lost his traction on the slick ground, fumbling the ball as he tried to catch himself, but my weight counterbalanced him and we fell into a thick puddle of muddy water.

He was howling with laughter, obviously amused that I had managed to stop the play, and we helped each other to our feet. "I think it's time to call the game," he told the others.

"Why? Afraid Dago's getting too good?" Duke asked.

"Well, that too, but someone's going to break an ankle if we keep playing in this rain."

The game was called, Hawkeye's team was declared the winners, and everyone dispersed to get their shower things, myself included. I didn't typically take my showers with the other boys, so I was astonished by the amount of tomfoolery that went on—towel snapping being the least shocking.

I felt like I had scrubbed my entire body thoroughly at least three times, but I was still finding mud caked in weird places. Several of the guys had already managed to get sufficiently clean and had wandered off, but Painless, Trapper, Duke and Hawkeye still remained.

"Geeze, Dago," Duke said beside me. "Did you get that playing with us?"

He was pointing to my hip and I looked down to see a deep purple bruise beginning to form. "Oh…yeah. Bandini caught me off guard."

"Told you to watch him," Hawkeye grinned as he lathered his hair with shampoo.

"Believe me, I did after that."

"Why don't you come over to the Swamp for cocktail hour, Dago? We haven't had a good day to drink in a long time." Duke offered.

Less than half an hour later, I found myself sitting next to Hawkeye in his bunk in a tent full of inebriated men. I was trying to drink slowly, having no desire to get drunk on their gin martinis or beer, but each time Hawkeye saw my glass get about half full, he surreptitiously filled it back up until I'd lost count of how many full glasses I might have had. I felt my inhibitions starting to slip a little, and I was starting to lean heavier and heavier against Hawkeye. The only good thing about being amongst a bunch of drunks, was that no one noticed how close I was to Hawkeye, or that his arm was currently draped over my shoulder as I leaned against his chest, because most of them were leaning on others for support as well.

When Duke pulled out his marijuana and rolled a joint, the others hooted drunkenly, and I watched as it was passed around the room. When it came to me, I took it and pulled the smoke in before turning my head up to look at Hawkeye. He was watching me closely and smirked softly before he leaned down and pressed his lips to mine, letting me blow the smoke into his mouth just as he had done to me several weeks ago.

He pulled back, grinning. "Gentlemen, we've taught him well."

There was rueful laughter from the others in the room and the joint continued making its way around.

"I love when you get loose like this," Hawkeye murmured in a sultry voice next to my ear so no one else could hear, his fingers lightly brushing down my arm.

"Hey, Dago," Trapper's voice distracted me from my rising arousal and I looked over at him as he drained the rest of his martini and started pouring himself another. "Hawkeye tells me you went to jail."

I nodded and sat up. "More or less, yes. It was a prison in Tibet."

"No shit?" Duke asked. "What'd you do?"

I told them the abridged story about the civil conflict between Tibet and China and the curfew that led to the misunderstanding where the Tibetans had thought I was starting a protest. "I was only there for two months, but believe me…that was long enough."

"Seems like you get into a lot of shit unintentionally," Duke commented, taking a hit off his joint.

"I think trouble just seems to find me."

"What's the craziest thing you've ever done, Red?" Bandini asked.

"I'm not drunk enough to tell you all that," I confessed, raising every eyebrow in the room by my admission.

"Quick, someone refill his drink!" Trapper called out. "That boy needs more alcohol!"

"I'm hardly a boy," I chuckled. "I'm the oldest one in this room. I think I'm actually older than Henry."

"Christ, Red, how old are you?" Duke asked.

"Wait, wait," Hawkeye said, putting a hand on my shoulder to stay my reply. "Try and guess."

"I was going to say mid 30s, but hell…now I don't know." Duke said, scratching his head. The others murmured their agreement.

"41." Hawkeye answered for me.

"Ain't no way you're over 40, you don't have a gray hair on your head."

I laughed, "Yes I do, just not a lot."

They all fell into discussion of age and how their bodies had started to show signs of getting older and my attention fell back on Hawkeye, who was massaging the back of my neck with one hand. I sipped my martini and leaned against him again. He draped his arm back over my shoulder, leaning down close to my ear.

"So what is the craziest thing you've ever done?"

I smirked and looked up at him, "You."

Hawkeye gave a short, quiet laugh, gently butting his head against mine.

"I've got a question for you, Dago," Ugly John spoke for what seemed like the first time. We all looked at him curiously. "Catholics believe in demons and exorcisms and all that crazy stuff, right?"

I nodded, "The Church believes that man can be influenced by evil spirits in two ways: obsession and possession. Obsession is when the person's mind is filled with evil thoughts and temptations—such as murder and sexual deviance. Possession is when the body is physically taken over by demons. Exorcism is the practice of cleansing the body and mind of evil spirits."

"How would you know if someone is possessed?" Trapper asked with intrigue.

"Well, I'm not a leading authority, really. I've taken a demonology course or two, but it's a whole area of specialization that I'm not properly trained in. However, there are signs of demonic possession, such as false beliefs about God and the Devil, confusion, deception and lying, speaking in tongues…things like that."

"Shit, Dago, you better get your holy water, because you just described half this camp." Duke joked.

"Do you really believe in all that stuff?" Hawkeye asked seriously. "Ghosts and demons?"

"I've had several personal experiences with demons," I answered. "It would be a bit silly not to believe in them."

"What kind of experiences?" Bandini asked. They were all edging closer now, eager to hear my stories.

"You won't believe me," I warned.

"I got no reason not to believe you," Ugly John said. "Besides, you're a priest, if you lie, you go to Hell, right?"

I laughed, "I think it would depend on the lie, but I promise I'm not deceiving any of you."

I knew I had their rapt attention so I began to tell them one of my most surreal experiences with spirits.

"In seminary school, I befriended someone who reminds me very much of you all—Danny is his name. He was always looking for trouble and something to get into. One Halloween night, him and I and a few younger boys were talking about spirits and demons—much like we are now—and Danny decided we should go ghost hunting in a nearby graveyard. There was an old cemetery in the middle of town where a lot of civil war veterans were buried. I'd been by the cemetery plenty of times, even walked through it in the daylight to look at the old headstones and such, so I wasn't really afraid of going at night—I was more afraid of getting caught and being punished for being out past curfew."

"Goody two-shoe," Painless teased. The others laughed quietly and I smiled.

"Yes, well, if I had been, I wouldn't have gone along. Anyways, we snuck out of the dormitory and headed to the graveyard. There was nothing truly spectacular about this particular cemetery except that it was old. It had a stone wall that was only about 3 and a half feet high, and heavy wrought iron gates that they never closed. The front of the cemetery was thick with trees, but the back was an open field. There were wide dirt paths that cut through the grave plots. I remember it was really cold that night, but there wasn't any wind, no clouds…the moon was full and bright so it wasn't hard to see where we were going. Well, at the back of the cemetery—where there were no trees, remember—there was this statue of an angel with her arms open and her face turned down as if looking at the grave she stood over. I'd seen it a million times before, from a distance and up close, so I knew exactly what it looked like. As we walked towards the back of the cemetery I happened to glance back at that statue and noticed that it was shrouded in darkness. It struck me as odd because the rest of the field was bathed in moonlight, but the statue was just in this black…cloud, is the only way I can describe it. I didn't say anything but I kept looking at it trying to figure out what was casting the shadow on it and it dawned on me that there wasn't anything that was casting a shadow on it. I remember about the time that I came to that realization I stopped moving. I just sensed an evil presence. The others kept walking and I remember calling out for them to stop. They turned and looked at me and Danny started joking that I was turning chicken, but I insisted that we had to leave. I couldn't stop looking at the statue and the others turned to see what I was looking at…about that time, I saw some kind of black creature sitting on the angel's shoulder with red eyes, looking at the four of us. Danny finally saw it, too. I was already backing towards the front gates at this time, the younger boys were beside me at this point, also eager to leave. Danny, being Danny, wanted a closer look, but he took about two steps towards the statue and said he literally couldn't take another step. He said it was like he was walking into a wall. I told him we needed to leave, I could just feel like something bad was about to happen. The younger boys took off running towards the gates, but I was waiting for Danny, who was still standing there staring at the statue. He finally came back to me and there was this look of fear on his face that I'll never forget and he very quietly and very calmly said, 'Do not run, just walk out of here.' Apparently he felt that same omen I had. We both turned and started walking and this huge gust of wind came from behind us—it literally felt like we were being pushed out of the graveyard. I had the feeling of being perused and I grabbed Danny's arm and took off in a dead run. I remember looking back over my shoulder and seeing that black thing chasing us, but it was weaving its way between the headstones, trying not to be seen. The minute we passed through the gates, the wind died and that feeling of being pushed stopped. We all looked at each other and ran back to the dorm as fast as we could. I could feel that thing following us all the way back."

They were all staring at me, wide eyed, obviously waiting for more to the story.

"Well? What happened next?" Painless asked in suspense.

"We tried to figure out what had happened, and if we'd really just seen a demon. I think the younger boys thought we were trying to pull one over on them but they couldn't explain what they saw. Danny and I went back to the cemetery the next day, but there wasn't any sign that anything had happened. The statue looked the same as it always had, there wasn't an evil presence…nothing. But ever sense then, I've been more…aware of spirits, I guess you could say. Weird things started to happen around me. Danny thinks that whatever was there in the graveyard that night attached itself to me and it's been following me around ever sense."

"Don't you be bringin' any damn demons in here, Dago!" Duke said, looking fearful.

I laughed. "Nothing truly bad has ever happened. It's more like I'm just always being watched by something sinister. I think that's why I never wanted to specialize in demonology. I didn't want more of those things following me around. Weird things happen to priests who study demons and perform exorcisms."

"Like what?" Hawkeye asked.

"Well, I shouldn't really talk about it. It's a bit of a taboo subject in the church."

"Who are we going to tell?" Trapper asked. "The Pope?"

I laughed quietly. "Well, if he asks, you didn't hear this from me… I've heard that priests who study demons often become possessed and obsessed themselves. Rather than exorcising demons, they often invite them into the physical realm. Those who aren't taken over are tormented, sometimes driven insane. Some have died mysteriously, others contract strange diseases or ailments. You'll never find anyone who has studied or practiced exorcisms for more than 10 or 15 years. Anyone who has, is probably obsessed and will do more harm than good."

"You said weird things started happening around you," Painless noted. "Like what?"

"Just little things that stuck out as odd," I replied. "If I was walking down a street at night, the street lamps would go out around me. This happened enough times that I knew it wasn't coincidence. And it wasn't always the same lights, so I knew there wasn't a fault in the line or anything. Things of mine would go missing and I'd later find them in really strange places. When I served as a priest for my church in San Diego, I'd be alone in the rectory and I would hear voices, footsteps, doors open or close…"

"Aren't churches sacred ground though?" Duke wondered. "I didn't think demons could come into churches and such."

"Demons can go anywhere they please, especially churches. What better place to find someone to torment than in a church?"

"What's happened to you here in Korea?" Trapper asked.

"The wounded that come through are enough of a horror for me that I don't think the demon has really felt the need to make itself known here."

"Damn, Red, I really don't want to be alone with you in a dark alley." Ugly John said, getting to his feet. "Who wants to go shoot some pool at the OC?"

Several of the guys accepted the invitation, while others headed off with Painless to play poker, leaving me, Hawkeye and Trapper in the Swamp.

"You know, Dago," Trapper said as he pulled out a beer. "You're a really interesting guy. We all kind of thought Hawkeye had lost his mind when he said he wanted to be friends with you—no offense or anything—but I'm kind of glad we've got to know you more. You always kept to yourself; who knew you had such exciting stories to tell."

"Well, I'm sure if I went around opening conversations with 'Hi, I'm the chaplain and I've got a demon that's followed me around for the past 15 years or so, hope you don't mind.' I'd probably get myself a Section 8 in no time."

They both laughed, and Hawkeye said, "I dunno, that's pretty catchy."

Trapper excused himself to go to the latrine and Hawkeye and I found ourselves alone in his bunk.

"If you kept a journal in seminary, I want to read that next."

I laughed but shook my head. "I didn't bring that one here. Maybe when I make it back to the states I'll mail it to you."

He smiled and drew me into a long, deep kiss; his fingers sliding along my jaw giving me goosebumps as I tingled with arousal. I wanted him desperately. I was still slightly intoxicated and knew my judgment was impaired, but that didn't stop me from trailing my hand down his chest and stomach and in between his legs, squeezing him gently through his trousers and feeling him harden in response. He moaned softly into my mouth, letting his knees fall open a little more.

I rubbed him as we continued to kiss feverishly. I wanted to push him down on his bunk and climb on top of him, but I knew Trapper would be back at any minute. Hawkeye seemed to have the same thought.

"Let's go to your tent," he murmured against my mouth. We both drained our martinis and got up, but Hawkeye paused by Duke's bunk, opening his footlocker and pulling out a couple of pre-rolled joints. He grinned at me as he put them in his pocket. We saw Trapper coming back from the latrine and I looked over at Hawkeye.

"Should we split up so he doesn't get suspicious?"

He nodded. "I'll drag him over to the poker game for a minute or two, then I'll say I'm going to go check up on Travers in post-op, and I'll meet you at your tent."

He kissed me quickly and we both stepped out in the rain that was still falling down, heading in opposite directions. I made my way quickly to my tent, still managing to get mostly wet in the downpour and shivering as I made it inside. I toed off my muddy boots and peeled off my wet clothes, hanging them over the back of the chair so they would hopefully dry out—I felt sorry for whoever had to do laundry this week, I'd soiled two sets of clothes in one day—and then wrapped myself in my robe and a blanket to regain a little warmth. I added some wood to my stove and struck a match to light it, hoping to warm my tent a little. It never ceased to amaze me how the rain could bring on such cool weather no matter how warm it had been.

Ten minutes passed before Hawkeye stumbled into my tent, drenched from the rain. Water was dripping off the brim of his hat and he took it off, shaking his head sending water droplets flying from the ends of his hair. I laughed softly and got up from my desk to help him out of his wet clothes, finding a place near the stove to put them so they would dry out.

"I really hate the rain here," he said as I handed him my towel so he could dry off. He went to my alcohol cache, found the bottle of Jack Daniels I'd given him the previous night, then dug the joints and a lighter out of his wet jacket pocket before he took residence in my bunk, waving the provisions at me with a smirk.

I laughed softly, shaking my head even as I disrobed and climbed into the bunk with him, slipping under the covers to keep warm. He took a swig of the alcohol then handed it to me to hold as he set one of the joints on the shelf above my cot and lit up the other one. He took several drags off of it, then rolled his body on top of mine, kissing me deeply as he breathed the smoke down into my lungs. When he pulled back, he took another drag, then held it to my lips. I took it from his fingers and tried to smoke it properly, just as he'd shown me how to do.

While I puffed, Hawkeye began to rub himself against me. He was hard, which quickly aroused me. The marijuana and alcohol were amplifying the pleasant, dizzy feeling I had and I wrapped my legs around his waist, pressing myself up against him.

"Oh, Jesus," he swore softly, finding my lips and kissing me. I was still holding the bottle of whiskey and the lit joint, so I couldn't hold him as tightly as I wanted, but I still wrapped my arms around his neck. He pulled back with a groan, taking the bottle and drinking before he set it on the shelf as well, then taking the joint and putting it between his lips. "Turn over."

I shivered with anticipation, aching deliciously at the raw hunger in his voice, and did as he told me. I heard him spit in his hand and listened to the soft wet sound as he stroked himself to slicken his member. He ran one hand down from the base of my skull to the small of my back before gently taking my hip to hold me in place as he slowly entered me. Even though I knew how much I would enjoy him being inside me, there was always a moment of pain as my body adjusted to his girth and tried to protest the intrusion. Hawkeye always seemed to enjoy that particular moment—not because of the pain it caused me, but because the tightness gave him so much pleasure.

When he was fully inside of me, he took my shoulders and pulled me up against him, wrapping one arm around my chest while the other took the joint from between his lips and held it to mine. I took a long drag. There was something erotic about being drunk and getting high while having sex. I knew the hangover I would have later would be unpleasant, but everything felt so good right now…

Hawkeye was moving slowly inside of me, kissing my shoulder as he caressed me with one hand, still holding onto the joint like he would a cigarette so he wouldn't drop it or accidentally burn me. There was something different in the way he held me, the way he moved and touched me—though he'd always been gentle, this time I could feel how much he adored me. This wasn't sex, this was love-making at its finest.

He put the joint in his mouth and slid his hand down the length of my body, taking my erection into his hand as he began to lovingly stroke me. I rested my head back against his shoulder and took the joint from his lips, taking a drag as I closed my eyes, soaking up this moment and absorbing it like a sponge.

"Dago?" He asked softly, nuzzling my shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"Would you…if I asked…would you…fuck me?" The question was asked haltingly, as if he didn't know how to phrase it, or was embarrassed for having even thought about it. I had never been the one to penetrate, and had never really considered doing it, so it felt strange now to imagine myself inside of Hawkeye. Strange, but arousing nonetheless.

"I would if you wanted me to," I told him, my voice sounding bizarrely deep.

I felt him shiver slightly, kissing his way up to my ear before he whispered, "I want you to."

He took the joint from me and slowly pulled out of me, sitting back on his heels as he smoked and looked at me from behind his dark-lenses glasses. I turned around to face him, still kneeling and slid his glasses off, setting them next to the whiskey and joint on the shelf before I leaned in and gave him a deep, lingering kiss.

"You like me to go around blind, don't you?" He teased as I kissed along his jaw.

"I just like seeing your eyes. Why do you wear tinted lenses anyway?"

"To drive people like you nuts," he smirked. I snorted in laughter and playfully pushed against his chest, making him laugh softly before he mustered up the courage to ask, "How do you want me?"

"Anyway you want to be," I answered gently, pushing his messy, long, blondish hair off his forehead. He leaned in and kissed me before turning around and laying on his stomach, folding his arms over my pillow. I laughed silently, wondering if he was expecting a massage or sex, but moved down in between his legs. I licked my palm and rubbed it over myself, then sucked on my index and middle finger, leaning over him and gently pressing my fingers inside of him.

"AH!" he yelped. I pulled back abruptly.

"What's wrong?" I asked, worried I'd somehow hurt him already.

"Your damn dog tags are cold!" He said with a laugh. I looked down and realized that they must have brushed against his back when I'd leaned over.

I laughed with him and pulled them and my cross off over my head, leaning across him to set them on my desk before I settled back between his legs bending down to kiss his shoulder. "Better?"

"Much," he smiled and pinched out what was left of the joint, setting the burnt end on my desk as well.

"Ready?"

He nodded, albeit a little tightly and I rewet my fingers before easing them inside of him. He was tight, clenching involuntarily and I kissed the middle of his back, along his spine.

"Relax, Hawkeye," I murmured gently.

"I'm trying…it's not easy."

I chuckled softly. "I know…but I promise it will feel really good."

I could tell he was trying to relax, but he was thinking about it too much so I gently bit his shoulder to distract him.

"Harder…" he encouraged.

I bite down a little harder, hearing him hiss slightly before he grunted in pleasure, relaxing enough to let me slip my fingers a little deeper. He moaned as I flexed my fingers, pushing back against my hand, and I smiled. "See? Told you."

I kept my fingers inside of him for several minutes, gently thrusting them in and pulling them back, feeling him relax more and more as he gave over to the pleasure. He was grunting, moaning, and swearing as he drew himself up on his knees, angling his backside up at me. It was rather a strange spectacle, as I'd never quite been on this end of things and I briefly wondered if I looked this wanton whenever I displayed myself so eager to receive.

"I think you're ready," I told him as I withdrew my fingers, smirking at his protesting whimper.

He looked back at me as I positioned myself, and I held his eyes as I gently pushed myself inside of him.

Hawkeye groaned and tensed around me, and the sensation took my breath away. No wonder he seemed to like this so much!

"Oh….fuck…" I swore, hardly realizing what words were coming out of my mouth as I tried not to cum. I vaguely heard him laugh, though it sounded strained, and he took a deep breath forcing himself to relax again and pushing back to impale himself on my erection. I shuddered as he fully encased my member, my head swimming pleasantly. As good as it felt to be entered by him, this felt infinitely better. I waited a few moments, letting us both adjust to this newness, then began to gently thrust my hips, pushing in and pulling out in slow, steady strokes.

"Fuck…" This time the swear came from his lips and I looked down at him as he clutched my pillow, a look of absolute bliss written across his face.

"Do you like this?" I asked, feeling exhilarated.

"Oh, fuck yes…" He reached one hand back, grasping for whatever part of me he could reach, holding onto the back of my thigh tightly as if trying to pull me deeper into him. "Don't stop, Dago…"

"I don't intend to, Ben."

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye's POV.

If someone had told me when I'd been drafted that I'd be fucked in the ass by a Catholic priest, I would have socked them in the mouth and then called them crazy, and yet here I was, ass up on Dago's cot with his cock jammed inside of me. I was pretty sure this qualified as one of those compromising positions Dago had mentioned not wanting to be caught in, but the whole fucking camp could have walked in that tent and I would have told them to hold on until I was finished.

I'd had my doubts about how good anal sex could possibly feel, but after being with Dago and seeing the sheer ecstasy on his face, I couldn't help but wonder what it'd be like. Even though I trusted Dago and loved him to pieces, it was still hard to pluck up the courage to ask if he would return the favor. We'd never talked about how he felt about fucking someone, and I assumed he'd always played the bottom in sex—he'd never given any indication to the contrary, and I seriously doubted Danny to be the type to take it up the tailpipe.

I had expected the discomfort of having something stuck up my rectum, but I didn't expect it would be quite so difficult to relax. Now I knew how my patients felt whenever I had to give them a physical that involved prostate exams. I was glad that Dago was well-versed in what it was like and had the courtesy to try and distract me. Part of the tension, I knew, was purely psychological—most of us associate that part of our bodies as an exit only, not a two way street.

When his teeth bit into my shoulder, it gave me something pleasant to focus on, which ultimately helped me relax and once his fingers were inside me, brushing against my prostate, I had no trouble giving over to the pleasure he'd promised. It still felt strange, but damn it felt good… I could feel my cock throbbing, jerking each time he found my prostate. By the time he had finished prepping me, I was more than ready to feel his cock inside of me.

I knew his cock would be thicker than his fingers, but it was still a little overwhelming and I couldn't help but tense up again.

"Oh…fuck…" He swore behind me in a low, gruff voice. I recognized that tone… It was the sound of pure fucking ecstasy. This was his first time inside of anyone, and I knew how fucking good a tight asshole felt around your cock. His pleasure helped me release some of the tension and I couldn't help but laugh softly, still unaccustomed to hearing that dirty four letter word coming from his perfect lips. I wanted to make this as enjoyable for him as I wanted it to be for me, so I took a deep breath, forcing myself to relax and pushed back against his cock until he was fully inside of me.

It seemed like forever passed us by as we sat there, joined together. I quietly wondered if Dago knew what he was supposed to do, but before I could ask, he tentatively pulled back a little, then thrust forward.

"Fuck…" I echoed his earlier sentiment.

"Do you like this?" Dago asked, his voice was almost haughty.

"Oh, fuck yes. Don't stop, Dago…"

"I don't intend to, Ben."

I knew I didn't have to ask if he was enjoying himself. He was holding onto my hips as he thrust into me. I almost wanted to ask him to fuck me harder, but decided that I probably shouldn't make that request yet. At least not until I knew how I might feel in a few hours when I tried to sit down.

I could feel the head of his cock pressing against my prostate with every thrust, sending a jolt of pleasure through me that had me grunting like a farm animal. I wanted him to press into me and just stay there and let me move against him. I remembered what he'd said about being able to cum just by getting fucked in the ass, and now I understood how that was possible. If he would just keep pressing on that damn spot…

Matching his rhythm, I began to push back against every thrust, coming up on my hands and knees for better leverage.

"Oh, fuck, yes…" I groaned, as I was now in the right position for his cock to continually rub against my prostate. "Oh, God, baby…just like that."

I could hear him breathing heavily as he continued to thrust into me, his fingers lightly digging into my hips as he softly moaned. "I'm not going to last very long like this, Hawkeye…"

"It's okay, baby, you don't have to. Just keep pressing into me just like that. It feels so fucking good." I reached down and grabbed my cock stroking myself in time to his thrusts. I didn't want to cum yet, but I was as close as he was. "God, Dago, your dick feels so good inside of me."

"Hawkeye…" he groaned, his thrusts suddenly became a little harder and a little faster. I wondered if he liked me talking dirty to him, but I didn't get to test that theory…

I was blinded by pleasure as the head of his cock rammed into my prostate. My cock jerked in my hand, my balls starting to draw up tightly against my body as they readied themselves to empty their load. I sank back further onto his dick, aching for him to pound me into a state of oblivion. I could feel his balls slapping against me, hear the sound of flesh hitting flesh. It was enough to drive me crazy.

I pushed up on my knees, leaning back against his chest and pressing as hard onto his cock as I could. He bit my shoulder almost painfully and I lost control, cum spurting from my cock and shooting somewhere in the vicinity of his desk and across his pillow. I felt like someone had scooped out my insides, and there was static in my brain. All of my senses shut down simultaneously until all I could see and hear was white noise, and the only thing I felt was mind-blowing ecstasy. I almost felt like I was having an out-of-body experience.

I'll be god damned if he didn't give me the best fucking orgasm of my life…

When the fog in my brain finally cleared, I realized Dago's arms were around my chest and he was holding me up even as his body sagged against my back, his head resting on my shoulder. I could feel his breath coming in heavy pants against my neck. I realized he must have cum shortly after I had, and I felt somewhat disappointed that I had been too involved in my own orgasm to witness his. Then I saw the trail of cum across his pillow and onto his desk and I laughed, highly impressed with my distance and amused by the mess I had made.

"Sorry, baby," I chortled. "I think I just gave a whole new meaning to the word 'blasphemy.'"

"Huh?" He raised his head from my shoulder with a confused expression, utterly sated and completely stoned.

I nodded towards the Bible on his desk that currently had a puddle of cum on the cover. "I just came on your Bible."

I saw a look of horror warring with hilarity on his face as he tried to decide whether or not that should be as funny as it was, until he finally just had to laugh along with me. "God, forgive me; but I'm not sure that's quite what He meant when He told his disciples, 'Let them come unto me.'"

I erupted into laughter, shocked by his quip. I felt him laughing quietly behind me before he kissed my shoulder and withdrew himself from me, using my shoulders to leverage himself off the cot and onto his feet. He picked up his towel, cleaning himself off before he mopped up the mess I'd made on his pillow, desk and Bible.

"I'll never be able to look at a Bible the same way," he mused, blushing furiously before he threw the towel at me. He started to dress as I wiped myself down, and I flipped his pillow over and laid back on his cot, putting my hands under my head and closing my eyes. There was no greater feeling than to be drunk, high and sexually gratified all at the same time. If I wasn't starving, I knew I could sleep happily for the next few hours.

"Why do I keep letting you get me high?" He asked as he came over and laid next to me wearing only his trousers. "It makes me feel so…odd."

"Odd how?"

"I dunno." He murmured sleepily, resting his head on my chest. "I feel…silly. And…sleepy. And…hungry. And…good."

I shook with quiet laughter as he kept pausing to try and describe what 'odd' felt like to him. "It's good to feel good, baby. That's why we smoke. It relaxes you, loosens you up."

"Maybe a little too loose," he chuckled softly.

"I told you I like it when you're loose." I smiled. "You think too much, Dago. You're too worried about what people think or what God thinks. You're really fun to be around when you're not concerned with what everyone else is thinking."

"So I'm not fun any other time?" He asked, his tone suggesting that he was only half kidding, which just proved my point.

"See, now you're worried about what I think of you when you're not loose," I laughed. "I always like being around you, baby, but I'm just saying you shouldn't worry so much."

"Well…I'll try," he said, making no promises.

I hugged him gently and kissed the top of his head. "So…how was your first time?"

He gave a short, bashful laugh and I could feel his face redden. "Good…really good."

He craned his head to look up at me before he asked quietly, "How was it for you?"

"Let me just say that the last time I shot a load that far was probably when I was a teenager masturbating in my bedroom."

His brow furrowed slightly and I knew he was trying to interpret whether or not that was a good thing. I laughed and clarified, "Dago, it was probably the best orgasm I've ever had."

"Oh," he said softly, his cheeks turning pink. He smiled up at me with a rueful expression, "Then I guess it's safe to say it was really good for you too."

I chuckled softly, "Yeah, I think it's definitely safe to say that."

He rolled over on top of me, straddling my hips as he leaned down and kissed me, lightly biting my bottom lip as he pulled back. I was amused that Dago liked to bite so much and wondered where that little fetish came from.

"You have a thing with biting, don't you?" I smirked.

He nodded meekly, "It…uh…kind of…um…excites me."

"Oh really?" I asked, my eyebrows lifting as I incorporated this new piece of information. "Does that mean you enjoy being bitten too?"

Dago nodded again, giving me a coy smile, and I wrapped my arms around him, sitting up with him still straddling me. He rested his hands on my shoulders, looking down at me with a soft expression on his face.

"Where do you like to be bitten?"

"My shoulders mostly."

"Yeah?" I leaned in and pressed a kiss against his collarbone. "Hard or soft?"

"Both." He answered, running a hand through my hair and lightly pulling the ends.

"Like this?" I gently bit the middle of his shoulder, right along the top of his trapezius muscle.

"Yeah," he answered almost dreamily.

"How hard do you like it?" I asked, my lips lightly brushing his shoulder as I spoke.

"Hard enough to leave marks." He hesitated for a second before adding, "I like when it starts off soft and then progressively gets harder and harder. I don't know why I like it, really…It just feels good to me."

I smiled and kissed the place I'd bitten him, pulling back to look in his eyes. "We've all got something that turns us on."

"What turns you on?"

"Damn near everything." I smirked.

He rolled his eyes, "Hawkeye…"

I laughed softly, squeezing him around the middle and pressing my lips to his. "I like for my dick to be slapped."

I saw the look of surprised shock cross his face before he tilted his head to the side and looked at me curiously. "How so?"

This time I was the one who blushed a little. "Let me see…how can I explain this…Well, if you're sucking my cock, it feels really good if you just suck the head and smack the side of my cock with your hand. I don't like it that rough, but it's alright if it's a little hard, you know?"

"That doesn't hurt?"

"It stings a little," I shrugged, "but that's part of what makes it feel so good. It also feels good if you slap my dick against your tongue."

He was smirking softly, "I'll have to remember that."

I grinned at him. "Let's get back to this biting thing of yours…I'm curious as to just how hard you like it."

"Bite me and I'll tell you when to stop."

I was amused that a priest had just requested for me to bite him, but I obliged. I started out with just a soft bite, just a bit of teeth on skin, then gradually began to bite harder and harder, listening to the way his breathing changed from slow and steady to quick and heavy until he was panting and moaning quietly, his fingers dug into my shoulders tightly, but he still hadn't told me to stop. I knew I was biting him hard enough to leave detailed imprints of my teeth…I wondered how much harder he wanted it. He cried out softly as I bite down harder still.

"There!" He gasped. I could feel him trembling ever so slightly as I memorized just how hard I was biting him, then I slowly released my hold. He heaved a heavy sigh, his eyes closed for a long minute before he looked at me with a dizzy expression and gave me a lopsided grin.

"Good?" I asked with a short laugh.

He nodded, still grinning. I looked at the mark on his shoulder, gently running my finger over the bright red ring of teeth marks. The skin was warm to the touch around the bite, and I noticed a slight purplish hue starting to form at the places that had the deepest imprints.

"I think I might have bruised you, baby."

He laughed softly and ran his hand across the bite mark, "I told you I like it hard enough to leave a mark."

"A mark, not a bruise," I countered. "Sure I didn't hurt you?"

"Oh, no…" He smiled. "Not at all, Hawkeye."

"Maybe I should set you up on a date with Dracula," I teased, making him laugh.

"I'll pass, thanks."

I tried to convince Dago to come get something to eat with me, but he passed in favor of catching a few hours of sleep.

"I still have to write a sermon for tomorrow," he told me. "I don't think God would appreciate me doing that in my current state."

I'd gotten dressed, tucked him into his cot and kissed him goodbye before I wandered outside. The rain had finally stopped, but the ground was one giant mud pit. Didn't they have grass in Korea…other than the stash Duke had in the Swamp? Ah, well…

I went through post-op, checking on several of the patients and chatting up the nurse on duty to keep my reputation in check, and then headed to the mess tent to eat.

Over the next several weeks, Dago continued to be included into any social activities hosted at the Swamp, and even invited to several poker games over in Painless' tent. Even when I was on duty in post-op, Trapper and Duke often sought Dago out to see if he wanted to play football or basketball, or shoot pool, or a number of other activities.

The only days I didn't see much of Dago were Sundays when he was giving his sermons, which included one Catholic service as well as one service open to all denominations at the 4077th, then he would travel up the road to the 121 EVAC hospital to offer confessions and give a Catholic service to anyone who showed up there, then he would go over to the engineer's outfit, where Shaking Sammy was stationed, and help out there as well. If there was still enough daylight, he would go and visit the local orphanage, taking them food and other items they needed. Of course, all those plans could change at any given time if we had wounded or if the front line shifted at all…

We established our own private routine, trying to appear as nothing more than good friends to the rest of the camp. Breakfast was the only meal we really counted on having together, but most of the time Duke and Trapper were with us, yammering on about something or another. Dago no longer read his little pocket book during meals, opting instead to wake up a little earlier than he normally would so that he could do his quiet time before he greeted the rest of the camp. Lunch was typically a crap shoot on if we'd end up eating at the same time, as he had his chaplain duties and often gave confessions or counseling in the middle of the day, and some people—he'd admitted to me—could be quite long-winded. If we weren't in OR and I wasn't on duty, then Dago, Trapper, Duke and I would typically eat dinner, often joined by Painless, Spearchucker, Bandini, and Ugly John.

Once a week, I would meet up with Becky in the supply tent just to keep the rumors alive, but on the nights when there were no poker games or movies or other activities, I would lie to Trapper and Duke and Spearchucker—if he was there—and tell them I had a date with a nurse or two. I never gave names, keeping up the façade that I didn't want them honing in on my nurses, and it almost became a game for them to guess who I was going to see. I would slip out and would always find a roundabout way of getting to Dago's tent.

His tent was the last in a line of tents next to the enlisted men, nurses and Hotlips. I always circled around the backside of his tent and whistled "shave and a haircut" to signal I was there, which was his cue to check and see if the coast was clear, whistling back "two bits" if it was safe for me to come around the corner and not be seen. Once alone in his tent with the door latched, it was like a magnetic attraction and our bodies were drawn together. We learned not to be frantic about getting each others clothes off, rather instead taking our time to fully appreciate the time together.

Dago loved alternating between kissing and biting my entire upper body, circling around me slowly so he could make sure to cover every inch of skin with his lips. He never bit me as hard as I bit him, but there were times when I winced and asked him to be easy. He would usually laugh softly and murmur an apology, and then he would take my cock in his hand and all would be quickly forgiven and forgotten.

I loved to stand behind Dago as I undressed him, running my hands up and down his bare chest and stomach, and biting his shoulder. He would always drop his head back against me, his eyes closed, his hands gripping my thighs as he hissed and moaned in pleasure. It always turned me on whenever he did that, and anytime I felt of his cock, there was no doubt just how much it turned him on too.

Our sexual exploits became somewhat of an adventure as well as we experimented with new positions or techniques. We had "borrowed" an extra mattress from the supply tent that we kept on top of his usual mattress, and we often drug both mattresses to the ground to make a palette to play on, which was much better than trying to maneuver around his cot. We started to switch between who played top and who played bottom, sometimes in the same night, and I noticed that Dago seemed to be becoming more confident in his sexual prowess. It was getting harder to make him blush, and once or twice he'd even managed to talk dirty to me with a straight face.

"I want to suck your cock 'til you cum down my throat," he told me one night as he undressed me, looking me squarely in the eyes.

I was completely flabbergasted, and so aroused, that I just stood there, gawking at him with my mouth open and my dick standing at full attention. He'd given me that lopsided smirk that I'd come to recognize as his self-satisfied little smile—I think he was starting to enjoy the times when he could dumbfound me—and then he'd given me an incredibly fantastic blow job until I had done just as he'd wanted.

All-in-all, life was good in Korea, even when times were tough in OR. What wasn't good was the fact that we were entering November. The time I had left here was dwindling quickly and each new day made me feel more and more torn between Dago and my wife. He and I hadn't talked about my impending departure in some time, mostly because neither of us had a workable solution. My future was somewhat fixed as of February: I would go home, I would go back to working at the hospital, I would stay there in Crabapple Cove, I would never be drafted again. Dago's future, on the other hand, was not fixed. He would be in Korea until the end of the war or until it was time for him to re-up his commission. But even then, I didn't know what his plans were.

We were lying together under a blanket on our palette near the stove, trying to stay warm as our bodies cooled from a particularly satisfying sexual adventure. His hand was resting on my chest and I was idly running my fingers along the fine bones, tendons and veins in his hand as I considered—once again—what would happen to us come February.

"Dago?"

"Hmm?" Came the sleepy reply. I smiled, realizing he'd nearly fallen asleep on me.

"Let's say this war is still going on when it's time for you to re-up with the army, and you're still here in Korea…what do you think you'll do?"

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, obviously trying to wake up enough to seriously consider the question. "I don't know, Hawk…I'd like to believe that there will be peace long before that happens, but that just means that I'll be sent to some other country in conflict to serve out the rest of my time."

He was quiet for a minute and I knew he was still thinking, so I just continued to caress his hand and wait him out.

"I don't think I'll stay in the army," he finally said. "I feel like whatever I was called here to do has been done. But, I don't know what I'll do after I'm discharged. If the Maryknolls would take me on, I'd love to work with them and continue to be a missionary. Maybe I can see what other countries I can get exiled from."

The last part was a joke and I laughed softly. "You can X them off the map as you go. Set a deadline for yourself."

He joined in my laughter for a moment, but then sobered and raised his head as he turned on his stomach to look down at me. "Hawkeye…? I know we said we weren't going to make plans for the future or anything, but…what if—and just hear me out before you get upset—what if we have one day every year or two years or five years that we meet somewhere. It doesn't have to be for sex, and it could be a whole group type of thing with you and me and Trapper and Duke and anyone else who wanted to. But, that way, we'd always have that one day to look forward to rather than dreading the day you leave in February."

His idea was actually a good one. I didn't know how well he and I would be able to handle the 'no sex' statute, but it was at least a plausible solution to our problem. "You know, baby, that just might work. We could even maybe meet up for a week or something and go to different places each time—you know, Vegas or Mexico or Paris…"

"How often would you want to do it?"

"As often as we can get away with, I guess. Yearly?"

"I'd like that." He smiled.

"Did you just think that up?"

He laughed nervously, "Actually, I had a dream about it a couple of weeks ago, but I didn't want to mention it unless you brought up the subject."

I pulled him down and kissed him, the wheels already turning in my mind as I imagined where and when our first meeting would be. If we were going somewhere like Vegas or Paris, then it would definitely have to be a week-long affair…and though I doubted it would stop Dago and I from fooling around, I would at least invite Trap and Duke. Maybe we could travel around to some of the world's best golf courses.

"Dago, do you play golf?"

"No, I never had any interest."

"Never had any—" I started to ask, appalled by his response. "Well, that's just too bad because Saturday you're going to learn from the pros from Dover."

He laughed softly and heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Isn't it time for you to go back to the Swamp?"

I laughed and playfully swatted his backside, "First you can't get enough of me, now you can't get rid of me fast enough!"

He was laughing but pulled me to my feet…it really was time for me to go. I sobered up a little and pulled him into a kiss. I always wanted to stay with him. It was nice to have someone to curl up with, especially on cold nights like tonight.

We dressed and moved the mattresses back on the bed, then fell into our final kiss of the night. This was so routine that it was almost like being on autopilot. I always wanted to tell him how much I loved him, but I limited myself to only saying once or twice a week, just because I didn't want it to become habit and accidentally say it at the wrong time, and I knew in a few months I probably wouldn't be able to say it again. It seemed cruel to get him accustomed to hearing it every day and then take that from his as well, but the feeling still came out no matter what words we said goodnight with.

For example, tonight's 'I love you' came in the form of me saying, "See you at breakfast."

And his reply of 'me too' came as, "Sleep well, Hawkeye."

Dago always slipped out of his tent first and made like he was going to brush his teeth—which he would actually go do—and I would quietly slip out a few seconds after, going back around the tent and reemerging either near the supply tent or from around the nurses tent. No one was ever the wiser.

I returned to the Swamp, where Duke and Trapper were ogling the newest nudie magazine that was circulating around the camp.

"Oh, baby," Duke said as I hurriedly got out of my jacket and wrapped up in my warm robe instead. "Look at the tits on her. You could use one as a pillow and still be able to suck on the other one without a problem. Hawkeye, you seen this?"

"Which one is that, babe?"

He flashed me the picture of the voluptuous young girl, who was quite top-heavy and striking a pose her papa would be ashamed of. It was sexy, and nice to look at, but she wasn't my type. I liked the kind of girl who liked to play peek-a-boo in the pictures, the type of girl who left a little to the imagination, the type of girl who was a little shy and reserved but could be oh-so-naughty.

Hold on a second…was I describing a woman or Dago? Ah, fuck…I was gonna be so screwed when I left Korea.

I managed to give my customary whistle of approval to the picture and they went back to admiring it with their heads together. I didn't feel particularly tired, but I also didn't have anything to entertain myself with. I'd long since finished Dago's journal and had given it back to him.

The entries from his last days at chaplain school had been painful to read as he wrote about what had happened between him and Danny and some of the things Danny would say to torment Dago. Ugly, worthless, a sissy, and a fairy were just some of the things Danny would call Dago whenever he was turned down for sex. If Dago had tried to walk away, Danny would turn violent to try and get his way, hitting Dago in places where the bruises wouldn't show, choking Dago by the cross he wore around his neck until he almost passed out, or hitting or kicking him in the groin.

I couldn't understand why Dago had never reported the abuse, or even why Danny would do those things to Dago if he loved him as much as I always suspected he had. Part of me suspected that since Danny knew about the torture in Tibet, he figured that maybe violence would get Dago to submit to him. When Danny realized the physical and verbal abuse weren't working, he decided to alienate Dago from the rest of the chaplains-in-training, but his plan had backfired. Only a handful of chaplains had bought into whatever lies Danny had spread, and Dago hadn't considered them important enough to write about.

His first entries about Korea had been a mixture of anxiety and excitement. As his Chaplain training came to an end, fighting had broken out in Korea and he was given orders to report to the newest MASH unit on the front lines—the Four-Oh-Double Natural. He had arrived in Korea in the middle of July 1950 on a 40 month commission, which meant that unless he resigned, he was stuck here for another year.

He and Henry had gotten here together and had basically built the camp with their own two hands and a handful of enlisted men, including Radar O'Reilly, who had just turned 17. He wrote about the difficulties he had with OR and the memories that resurfaced from his imprisonment; he wrote about the doctors and nurses and other personnel, and how he didn't feel like he really fit in with anyone, but how Walt Waldowski—the Painless Pole—had been the first new recruit to befriend him. And then he wrote about mine and Duke's arrival. I had laughed as he said that we looked like trouble from that first day we'd arrived in an allegedly stolen jeep, but that there was something different about the two of us that gave him hope for the camp's morale. He wrote about the pranks we pulled and how angry and devastated he was, never understanding why we would do such horrible things. And then—the very last entry he'd written—was the incident with Painless, the struggle to come to me, and the desire I had awakened in him by simply stroking his hair.

Finishing his journal had been bittersweet. Though I knew the rest of the story from there, and I spent every moment I could in Dago's actual presence, it somehow felt like I had lost a confidant. He was always open and honest with me, but his journal had been so candid and so revealing and had given me such insight into his personal thoughts that I knew, unless he kept writing, I wouldn't have that level of connection with him again. And even if he did, he would always be aware that I would read what he wrote and he might end up censoring himself to be safe.

"You're awful quiet, Hawkeye," Duke noted. "Bad date?"

"No, not at all. I was just thinking about something."

"I thought I smelled something burning," Trapper quipped.

"Thinkin' about goin' home again?"

"Yeah," I lied to keep it simple. "Just a few more months."

"I hate you both," Trapper said, moodily. He'd been drafted several months after Duke and me, and had to stick it out 'til May in this hell hole.

"It won't be that bad, Trap…you'll have Dago and Painless to keep you company."

"Yeah, great." He answered miserably. "Won't be the same without you guys though."

"You know, Dago had a great idea about us all getting together after the war. Like one week every year we'd go some place and just have a good time."

"Say, that's not a bad idea. I was thinking we should all get together sometime. Have us a little party, little B-B-Q." Duke nodded in agreement.

"How about you, Trap?"

"I'm game. Where would we meet up?"

"Why not Crabapple Cove? There's a great festival they do every year to ring in the start of crab season. Our wives and kids could all get together and go shopping or whatever it is that women do while we hang out and do our thing."

"Say, that's a great idea!" Duke said enthusiastically.

The three of us conspired on the plan and officially declared Summer 1954 as our first annual meeting. I couldn't wait to tell Dago about it, but I knew it would have to wait until morning, so instead I wrote home to my wife to tell her.

I laid awake half the night thinking about next summer and the four of us together in Crabapple Cove. I wondered what it would be like to see Dago after a year apart. I tried to imagine how we might greet each other—a handshake, a hug? I knew I'd probably want to hug him, but that hug would probably turn into a kiss and that kiss would blow up my resolve not to cheat on Mary. With Trapper and Duke and our families around, Dago and I wouldn't have much opportunity to sneak off and be alone, but that thought was somehow more irritating than it was reassuring. I knew that I would want to be with Dago, but for Mary's sake, I simply couldn't.

I sighed and pushed the thoughts from my mind. I would just have to cross that bridge when I got there.

When Saturday rolled around, Trapper and I lugged our clubs up to the chopper pad with Dago in tow. I'd told Trapper that we had to teach Dago to appreciate golf, and Trapper had readily accepted the challenge, and both of us had gone over the top to do it. We had both worn our 'pro' golf attire—myself in a white button down shirt, red sleeveless sweater, knee-length black and white gingham knickers, red knee-length socks and black and white wingtip shoes; and Trapper in a yellow sweater, orange and white checkered knickers, yellow socks, and black and white wingtips. We were certainly a spectacle—especially given that it was about 50 degrees outside and neither of us were wearing jackets. Dago had simply shook his head at us, but he came quietly and stood by listening as Trapper and I explained—at length—the history of golf.

I showed him the different types of clubs and what they were used for, then I gave him one of my 9-irons and taught him how to hold his hands on the grip and the proper way to swing. I stuck a tee down in the dirt just for visual reference, took a club of my own and stepped into a typical golf position.

"Alright, baby, you want to bend your knees a little and lean over just a bit, but keep your back straight, eye on the ball. Imagine that where that tee is, there's a straight line that extends over the camp. You want your swing to follow along that line in the direction your trying to hit the ball. The swing and rotation is the most important part. You want to bring the club back and inward—left arm comes straight across your body, right elbow bends so that the head of your club is up towards your right shoulder. Most of your weight is going to be on your left leg, but don't turn your feet, just rotate your upper body. On the downswing, you'll come over that invisible line, making contact with the ball. As you follow it through, you're going to pivot your right foot back and swing your arms around so that your right arm comes up across your body and your left elbow is bent, and you're facing whichever way you hit the ball."

As I explained it to him, I practiced the swing in slow motion, then signaled for him to take my place and practice what I'd shown him. We watched him practice his swing rigidly, Trapper popping his gum noisily next to me.

"Relax a little, Red, you're not the Tin Man." He suggested to Dago.

Dago glanced up at us, but his posture didn't change much. I laughed softly, handing my club to Trapper as I went over to Dago, taking hold of his upper arms and gently shaking him, trying to get him to loosen up.

"Come on, babe, just relax your shoulders. Your core should be tight to help keep you balanced and stable, but Trap's right, you're not made of metal. Golf is supposed to be a relaxing game."

"It's hard to relax with the two of you watching me like that." He said quietly.

"Here…" I stepped around behind him and slid my hands down his arms covering his on the grip. I lowered my voice as I leaned in, trying not to move my lips to where Trapper could lip-read what I was saying. "It's just like making love, steady and strong but gentle."

I slowly brought his arms back in the upswing, then down over that invisible line, and followed through the motion to the other side. I brought his hands back to neutral over the tee and placed my hands gently above his waist.

"Bring it back," I instructed, gently guiding his torso into the rotation. "And bring it around." I guided his body through the motion, gently turning him so that he was facing the direction of his swing and reminding him to pivot his right foot. I went through it with him several more times, then stepped back to watch him. He tensed up a little bit under our scrutiny again, but seemed to have the hang of it.

Trapper brought over a ball and set it up on the tee. "Here, Dago… watch me hit."

Dago moved out of the way and Trapper set up for his shot, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet to get the right stance and looking out over the camp to see where he wanted the ball to go. He made sure his club was lined up perfectly with the ball, then brought the club up and swung it around, hollering out, "Fore!"

"Why do you say 'four?'" Dago asked as we all watched the ball sail across the camp.

Trapper and I laughed, but I explained. "It's 'fore' like fore and aft. Pro golfers have caddies that follow them around either carrying their clubs or keeping track of the balls in play. The caddie who keeps track of the balls in play is called a forecaddie. They typically stay further ahead near the holes so that they can see where the balls land. In order to warn them that a ball was being hit, the golfer would say 'fore' meaning 'hey, you forecaddie, watch for my ball!' It also serves as a heads up to bystanders so they know to watch out or they'll get beamed in the head."

"Oh," he said as understanding dawned. "That makes much more sense than 'four.'"

We laughed again and I set a ball down on the tee. "Come on, babe, you're up."

"I don't have to say 'fore,' do I?"

"You absolutely do," I grinned.

He sighed but took position, lining up his swing and grudgingly called out, "Fore…" as he hit the ball. I'd given him a 9-iron because I didn't expect him to be power driving any of the balls, but it sailed a good 100 feet, curving to the right as the wind caught it, and carrying it over towards the swamp.

"Nice!" Trapper exclaimed.

"You're a natural, Dago." I told him, taking the 9-iron from him and pulling out my 3 wood instead. "Here, try this one, see if you can hit it into the mine field."

Dago gave a practice swing to test the difference in the feel of the club and Trapper set him up with another ball.

"I'll give you ten bucks if you blow up a mine," Trapper wagered.

We watched as Dago set himself up, I could see his eyes moving back and forth a little as he tried to calculate the angle he needed to hit the ball since the wind had picked up his other one. I smiled to myself. Dago may not have been interested in golf, maybe hadn't wanted to even learn, but he was a good sport and he was giving it his all rather than just randomly swinging half-assed.

"Fore!" Dago called a little more confidently.

We all held our breath and watched the ball sail towards the mine field.

"Come on, come on, come on!" Trapper was chanting. It landed, but without causing an explosion.

"Well, you got it there," I told Dago. "That's half the battle, especially since this is your first time golfing."

"I dunno, Hawkeye," Trapper interjected. "I think maybe he's got a little help from above. Are you and God cheating, Red?"

Dago laughed but shook his head. "I don't know if God is much of a golfer either."

"Well," I said, setting myself up on a tee and aiming towards the minefield as well, "You're either a quick study or I'm a fantastic in-struc-tor."

"Must be a quick study, then." Dago said surprisingly. Trapper erupted into side-splitting laughter.

I looked up at Dago and saw that lopsided grin that indicated he was teasing me. I tried not to smirk back, giving away just how pleased I was that he was becoming just as quick-witted and quirky as the rest of us. "That is very unkind, sir."

He laughed softly, his blue eyes twinkling in merriment. I couldn't take my eyes off of him and I saw him blush slightly as he realized my gaze had gone on probably a fraction too long. "Uh, Hawkeye, could you speed it up a little? You're holding the rest of us up."

His verbal prodding had worked, I laughed, but I was able to look away and knocked my ball towards the minefield. We heard the explosion as it made contact, sending a debris cloud of dirty and rock high into the air. Trapper and I cheered, but Dago just laughed and shook his head at us again.

For the next hour we continued to knock our balls towards the minefield, trying to see how many we could set off. When Henry finally stormed up the hill and threatened us within an inch of our lives to knock it off, the score was thus: Trapper- 3, Dago- 2, and Me-1. Henry's timing couldn't have been better as just as he was turning to leave, Radar rushed up behind him, warning us all that wounded were incoming.

"Choppers, sirs."

"Well, I say we're a little overdressed for the occasion," Trapper commented.

"Do you want me to take these back to your tent?" Dago asked, indicating our clubs.

"If you don't mind," I answered, then looked at Radar, "Help him out, would ya?"

"I'll help Father Mulcahy take these back to your tent, sir," Radar was saying before I'd finished talking.

The choppers came into view about that time and I knew it was time to go to work.

There were only a dozen or so wounded that came in, so the OR wasn't near as tense as it had been recently, and our golfing attire certainly seemed to help keep the mood light; even Henry seemed to be in a relatively good mood.

"Pierce, I don't appreciate you corrupting my chaplain. He used to be a nice, quiet, decent fellow, and now you and Trapper have him telling off Hammond and blowing up the goddamn minefield."

I smirked behind my mask. I reveled in the fact that no one knew just how much I'd corrupted Dago. I glanced around the OR, wondering just where our deviant little chaplain was, but didn't see him.

"Come on, Henry," Trapper piped up before I could say anything. "We all need to have a little fun; even Dago Red."

"Can't you guys do anything normal?" Henry asked. "Don't drag him down to your level."

"Ah, but Henry, that's what we came here to do: rape the women and corrupt the clergy."

"Goddamn it, Pierce…" Henry muttered, annoyed with my inability to be serious at any given moment. Trapper and I both laughed.

I didn't see Dago again until later that evening when I went to his tent. He latched the door and I gently pulled him to me, kissing him as he wrapped his arms around me. I squeezed him tightly.

"I think this is the best part of my day," I told him. "Getting to be alone with you."

"Mine too," he said softly, nuzzling my neck. "Hawkeye?"

"Mmhmm?" I pressed my lips to his neck, nibbling gently and making him groan softly.

"I…uh… I was going to ask you if you might still write to Tseten for me?"

"Yeah, sure, did you finally think of something you want to say?"

"Well, not specifically, no…but you'll be leaving in a few months and I don't want to miss the chance to write to him."

"Sure, baby, of course I will. You just have to give me an address where to send it."

He smiled and pulled me back into a fierce kiss by my face. I chuckled against his mouth, amused by his fervor, but eagerly returned the kiss. I pulled Dago to his cot and down on top of me, aware that we were both still fully clothed—boots and all—but I wasn't in a hurry tonight.

"Thanks for playing golf with me today," I said in between kisses.

"Thanks for teaching me," he smiled. "I have to admit, I really wasn't looking forward to it, but I actually had fun."

"I'm glad. Why weren't you looking forward to it?"

"It just seemed like a really stupid game. Really boring."

"Come on, baby, do you really think I would willing do anything that's boring?"

He laughed softly, "Yes, I should have known better. Thank you for enlightening me."

"Anytime." I chuckled, remembering what Henry had said in OR. "Did you know Henry thinks Trap and I are corrupting you?"

"Aren't you?" He teased.

"You know, Dago, you're getting just a little too cheeky." I said, shaking my finger at him.

He smirked and bit down on the tip of my finger.

"Yeowch!" I was half laughing, half in pain. "Jesus, baby! That hurt."

He was laughing but sucked on the end of my finger before pulling back. "Sorry."

"I don't think you are." I argued, still chuckling.

He leaned down and kissed my lips. "How can I prove it?"

His voice had dropped to that haughty tone and my cock jerked in response. Fuck, I loved how he could turn me on like a light switch. I wasn't done teasing him. "I don't know, I think I may be scarred for life. I think you might have done irreparable damage to my finger. I'll never be able to operate again."

He was kissing his was slowly down my neck, his fingers working open the buttons on my jacket. I felt him laugh softly. "Hawkeye…" he murmured against my skin.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

One of his hands covered my cock and squeezed me through my trousers and I gave him a satisfied groaned, but continued to tease him. "Mmm…that's a nice start, but I still don't believe you're sorry."

He slipped down my body, taking my hands and pulling me up into a sitting position as he straddled my lap. He pushed my jacket off my shoulders then grabbed the bottom of the sweatshirt I was wearing, tugging it off over my head. He sighed in exasperation as he encountered a t-shirt under that.

"You're dressed like it's the middle of December."

"You can never be too prepared," I smirked, having intentionally layered for this very purpose.

Dago pulled my shirt off over my head. "You've got to be kidding me, Hawkeye…" He laughed as he saw my undershirt.

I laughed and wrapped my arms around him, pulling him down against my chest and kissing him deeply.

"If you have as many layers on under your pants as you did your jacket, I'm going to kill you," he threatened playfully, smiling against my lips.

"Ah, but you can't kill me, it's against your religion." I teased.

He laughed gently, brushing his nose against mine, "Let's move to the floor, Hawk…"

I smiled. He'd only recently started shortening my name. Duke and Trapper often called me 'Hawk' but I knew with Dago, it was a term of endearment to him. It was as close as he was going to get to calling me 'baby.' I liked that we each had picked a pet name that could be used in public without raising an eyebrows.

We got up and moved the mattresses down to the floor with his pillow and blanket and I turned to watch Dago take off his dog tags and cross—something he'd started doing automatically now. Thinking about our pet names had made me curious… "Hey Dago? Did you have a nickname for Danny? He called you Dago…what did you call him?"

"Just Danny. Or Dan." He answered as he shrugged out of his jacket and pulled his black turtleneck over his head. "He had other names for me, but Dago was what he used most often."

"What other names?"

"Johnny or Johnny-boy. Whenever we would…you know…he would call me his 'Angelus Damnata.' His Condemned Angel."

I didn't want to admit it, but it was actually a beautiful nickname, and fitting for Dago's sexual struggles. I found it interesting that Dago never referred to what he and Danny did as 'sex.' When he'd first mentioned Danny several months ago, he'd told me that they'd never had sex, or 'not really' in his opinion, though it was a confirmed fact that they had engaged in both oral and anal sex, as well as mutual masturbation. It made me wonder what exactly he classified as 'sex' but part of me wondered if he equated the word sex with love. He hadn't loved Danny, so he hadn't, by that definition, had sex with him. I wanted to ask him about it, but he stepped forward and put his hands on my waist as he rested his forehead on my shoulder.

"Please stop asking me about Danny right now," he said softly.

"Sure," I kissed the top of his head. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to always bring him up, I'm just curious."

"I know. It's alright…but I…" He pulled away and turned his back to me, looking towards the floor. "I have…trouble…staying…you know…"

The confident Dago that had recently emerged was gone in that moment, and meek, mild, self-conscious Dago had returned. I realized he was trying to tell me that my asking about Danny had turned him off. I nearly laughed, but stopped myself, knowing he was truly upset and embarrassed. I stepped up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist, dropping my lips to his bare shoulder and tenderly kissing him.

"It's okay, baby," I told him softly. "I can turn you back on."

I gently bit into his shoulder but Dago shrugged away, "No...don't do that right now, Hawkeye."

I raised my eyebrows, surprised that he had stopped me from doing the one thing I knew he really enjoyed. I made a mental note never to mention Danny again before sex. I turned him around, taking hold of his chin and forcing him to look up at me. I pushed my glasses up on top of my head so he could see my eyes, and brought my face in close to his, brushing my nose gently against his.

"I love you, John."

I pressed my lips to his, kissing him gently at first, and slowly building back up to the passion we'd had before I'd brought up his ex-lover. We managed to finish undressing one another—I hadn't given him any more surprises with layers of clothes—then I lowered him to the palette on the floor and covered his body with mine.

Even with his stove burning, it was still cold in his tent so I pulled the blanket over us as I stretched out over him, pressing myself against him from head to toe. All the women I'd been with felt more-or-less the same physically. They were different shapes and sizes, of course, but when they were pressed up against me—though they felt wonderful—it was all the same: a pair of tits and a warm place to put my dick. I liked the fact that Dago was a man; his body felt so good against mine, so different than a woman's. The couture was different, there was a fine definition of muscle, giving a mix of hard and soft in certain areas of his body, and the hardness of his cock pressing up against my stomach gave me an exhilarating rush. I even preferred the way he smelled to women: just vaguely of aftershave and his own personal pheromones.

We didn't speak, didn't tease, didn't rush. I was slow and gentle as I entered him, caressing his tongue with mine as we kissed languidly. His fingers were lightly brushing up and down my spine like feathers. It was in moments like this, moments where our love was so evident, that I began to question what I had at home and what I wanted to have. What would life be like with Dago?

I couldn't imagine living with him on a full-time basis, but the thought of it wasn't appalling. It wasn't an option, obviously, but it was still entertaining to think about. I could imagine coming home to him after a long day, relaxing against him on the couch with his arms around me or rubbing my shoulders as I drank a beer and told him about my day. We'd maybe watch the news, have something to eat, then go to bed and have sex before we fell asleep in each others arms. I'd wake up for work and let him sleep while I got ready, kiss him goodbye, and go to the hospital. On Saturdays we'd play golf, and Sundays he would work. It seemed like a very comfortable and attractive life…but it was missing three important pieces of my life: Mary, Tommy and Charlie.

"Penny…" he said softly, derailing my train of thoughts.

I looked down at him, confused. "What?"

"Penny…for your thoughts," he clarified. "You looked like you were a million miles away just now."

I laughed softly and leaned down to kiss him. "Not quite a million. I was just trying to picture what life would be like if you and I lived together back home."

"Oh…and?" he asked with quiet curiosity.

"It was nice." I admitted, equally quiet.

Dago gently pulled me down into a kiss, then tightly held onto me as he rolled us over so I was on my back, my cock still inside of him. I groaned and closed my eyes as he pushed against my chest and sat astride my hips, gently rocking back and forth.

"You're gonna fuck me now?" I smirked.

"You're too busy thinking to pay attention," he teased gently, finding my hands and locking his fingers together with mine, pushing against me for leverage as he rode my cock. He was purposely trying to drive me insane by changing his speed and rhythm just at the point where it felt so good that I could almost climax.

"Goddamn it, Dago," I grunted after the 3rd time he'd nearly brought me to climax. I forced him back over onto his back, grabbing his wrists and pinning them against the mattress as I thrust into him, making him gasp.

He twisted his hands in my grasp as I started to pound into him, eager for release, but I held him firmer so he couldn't get away.

"Let go," he told me, a slight panic rising in his voice. "Hawkeye, let go!"

I released his wrists, and he pushed against my chest a little. I slowed down, seeing that he was practically panting.

"Don't hold me down like that," he said a little shakily, but then pulled me back down and kissed me. I suddenly realized that I must have triggered a flashback. Christ, I was really on a roll tonight bringing up bad memories…

"I'm sorry, baby…" I whispered apologetically. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he whispered back. "Don't stop; just don't hold me down."

I found the spot on his neck that drove him crazy and gently kissed and nibbled the soft skin. He shivered and moaned beneath me, wrapping one of his legs across my lower back to drive me deeper into him.

"I love you so much," I found myself saying for the second time that night.

Dago wrapped his arms tightly around my neck, as he whispered, "I love you, too."

I could count on one hand the number of times Dago had said the actual words rather than simply 'me too.' He never said it first, but I knew how hard this was for him. He'd told me that it killed him to hear it, to say it, because he knew as well as I did that nothing would ever come of our relationship. We could only progress to a certain point. That just made hearing the words from him all the more special to me.

We clung to each other tightly, letting our passion carry us into a world where nothing else mattered, nothing else existed. I wanted to stay there with him forever, but he was mewling softly against my neck, trying not to cum yet. I reached between our bodies, taking his cock and stroking him in time to my thrusts. As I squeezed his shaft and brushed my thumb over the head, Dago cried out, pressing his face against my shoulder, his fingers digging into me as he came.

His body tensed around my cock, his head falling back against the pillow, and I swore softly as my balls jerked up against my body, bringing me right to the edge. I continued to pump his cock, feeling his warm cum running over my hand, as I gave a few final thrusts before my orgasm overtook me. It was intense, but not violent. I let the waves carry me out into the sea of ecstasy, rocking my body smoothly into Dago's as I watched him cumming. Normally I was so blinded by my own bliss that I missed the expression on his face. His eyes were closed tightly and he'd pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down to keep himself quiet. I could see his sternocleidomastoid muscles straining in his neck, his face slowly turning red. I realized he was holding his breath against the intensity of his orgasm, and it made me shudder as I wondered at how good he must feel at that moment.

Though his cum had been spent, his orgasm hadn't ended and I didn't stop thrusting into him until he finally gasped for air, crying out hoarsely, and pushed a trembling hand against my shoulder in an effort to stop me. My own orgasm had subsided and I was throbbing pleasantly inside of him, pleased at how hard he had come. I finally released his cock slowly and he shuddered, his body nearly convulsing under me and he gasped again before his body went completely slack and he laid there, eyes closed, panting heavily. I was grinning wildly as I reached for his towel and began to clean us up. In all the time we'd been having sex, Dago had never had an orgasm quite like that. I laid down next to him, rearranging the blanket over us, though he kicked one leg out from under it, and propped myself up on my elbow as I looked down at him, still in recovery.

"Good?" I teased.

He gave an exhausted little laugh, but didn't answer as he blinding reached his hand towards me, encountering my hip. He gave me a gentle pat and rested his hand there limply.

"Jesus, Dago, did I completely wear you out? I thought I was being gentle."

"You were…" he said raggedly. "But that doesn't mean it wasn't ardent."

"Well, as long as you're not complaining…" I smirked.

"Oh, no…not at all."

I leaned down and kissed his forehead, resting mine against his. "I'm sorry for holding you down, Dago. I wasn't thinking."

"It's okay, Hawkeye," he reached up and ran his fingers through my hair. "I…I'd forgotten that was one of my triggers. I should have warned you."

"It's not your fault. I was just being overzealous."

He laughed softly. "I like when you're overzealous, but just not in the restraining kind of way."

"Do you mind if I ask what happened when I did that?" I found psychological traumas and flashbacks interesting from a medical perspective because of the physiological fight or flight response they had on the body, but I'd never known anyone personally who suffered from flashbacks like Dago did. I'd only read about them or heard stories secondhand from friends who were head shrinks.

He shook his head, furrowing his brow as he tried figure out how to explain what had happened. "I was okay at first because I knew we were just playing around, but then I tried to get loose and couldn't. I felt like my throat closed up and my chest got really tight and I couldn't breathe."

"Were you thinking about anything in particular?"

"Like what?" he asked, shifting his eyes to meet mine, curiously.

"Like about what happened to you in Tibet or the things Danny did."

"Oh…" he thought for a second. "No, there wasn't a specific memory it triggered, more just like a conditioned response. I was expecting to be hurt or tortured. I still knew where I was and who I was with, so I think that helped me from going into a complete panic."

"I promise not to do it again." I sealed my words with a kiss, but as I started to pull back, Dago's hand came up to the back of my neck and he held me in place, continuing to kiss me quite passionately. When the kiss finally ended, I pulled back and looked at him. He was regarding me with a strange expression.

"Will you stay with me, Hawkeye? Just for a while anyways…"

I settled down beside him, wrapping my arms around him and resting my head next to his on the pillow. "Of course I will, baby."

I felt him yawn as he sank his body further into mine. "Just 'til I fall asleep…"

I smiled, kissing the top of his shoulder. I could hear the wind gently whistling outside as I listened to him breathing, and closed my eyes, enjoy the stillness with him, knowing moments like this were numbered. I yawned as I began to daydream once again about a life beyond Korea. It wasn't hard to imagine that Dago and I were in our own bed, claiming sleep after making love. If I imagined hard enough, I could almost feel that we were either in San Diego or Crabapple Cove… It was a comforting thought, and I fell asleep next to him with a soft smile on my face.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulcahy's POV.
> 
> The scene involving Jean-Pierre de la Chevaux is from M*A*S*H Goes to New Orleans, written by Richard Hooker and William E. Butterworth (1975). All character quotes in that scene are directly quoted. No copyright infringement intended.

Time was a conundrum in Korea. It never seemed to progress normally. Hours could feel like days whenever we were inundated with wounded, or could feel like mere minutes whenever I was alone with Hawkeye. Sometimes I felt like if I blinked, he would be gone and I would be alone again. I dreaded February with every fiber of my being.

It was for purely selfish reasons that I didn't want Hawkeye to leave when his time was up. I didn't want to say goodbye, I didn't want this relationship to have to end, I didn't want to go back to a life without love…his love. I'd simply had to stop thinking about our relationship from a Biblical perspective because I knew that God did not approve, and if the Holy Mother Church ever found out I was sure to be excommunicated. I didn't think about the penance I would pay for this sin, mostly because I felt it was worth it, no matter what. This time with Hawkeye, the way he made me feel, the way we shared in each others life…if it meant spending 1,000 years in purgatory to atone for the wrongness of it, I would gladly accept it. One day with him was better than thousands elsewhere.

Being around Hawkeye and the boys, however, was introducing me to habits that I had, thus far, avoided in my life. When it was 'cocktail hour' in the Swamp, the booze would flow and the joints would be passed, to which I would indulge in both without a second thought now. At first I had joined in just so I wouldn't be so utterly out of place among them, but now it was more than that. I'd started enjoying the way it made me feel. I felt like a completely different person. Trapper had coined the phrase best when he'd called it "Liquid Courage." Whether I was stoned or drunk or both, I felt that type of cocky confidence I admired in people like Hawkeye and Danny. I said and did things that I wouldn't dream of saying or doing sober, and I didn't care. It was…liberating.

If the drunkenness and drug use weren't enough, though, I'd also started to form an addiction to cigarettes. I'd always passed whenever Hawkeye had offered me a puff on his, but one day…I didn't.

It had been another one of those long days in the OR, but this day had been exceptionally trying. I had been helping in the pre-op ward, talking to patients and trying to help them get into a positive mindset before surgery. I'd prayed with some, merely talked with others, but generally tried to be the face of optimism and hope for all of them.

A jeep had roared into camp and a young sergeant was carried in on a stretcher with a red tag pinned to his shirt. A red tag meant that a soldier was critically injured and needed immediate care. I saw the boy's grievous wounds—a hole torn into his leg near the groin—and was briefly told what had happened by another boy who had traveled with the sergeant to make sure that the clamp, currently pinching his femoral artery together in his leg, didn't come loose. A mortar shell had exploded near the boy's squad, and nearest to him. A shard of metal had sliced clean through his leg, severing the artery. They had been up on Heartbreak Ridge when it had happened. The boy's squad had carried him down the treacherous face of the mountain—one of the other boys using his dirty fingers to hold the end of the artery closed to stop the loss of blood. They had carried him to a battalion aid station half a mile away, then road in a jeep to the 4077th. At least an hour had passed since the boy had been injured. If the red tag and story hadn't been enough to convince me that the he was in serious trouble, the blackening of the skin on his leg due to blood loss certainly did.

I ran to the OR to get Hawkeye. God must have truly been watching over that sergeant because Hawkeye had just finished with a patient, and he followed me out to pre-op.

"What's your name, friend?" Hawkeye asked as he looked at the note pinned to the boy from the doctor at the battalion aid station.

"Jean-Pierre de la Chevaux," the boy said in a thick Cajun accent, surprising still lucid and conscious.

"That's a good German name," Hawkeye had told the boy, obviously teasing to lighten the mood.

"How's it look, doc?"

"Don't go making Dago Red any promises you don't have to," Hawkeye replied. "I think we can keep you alive."

I stood by while Hawkeye ordered for the boy to receive several units of blood, and the boy asked for some pain medication. Hawkeye had told him they'd give him something in the OR if he could stand it a little longer.

"Yeah, I can stand it," the boy said bravely, but then added, "What I couldn't stand is losing the leg."

Hawkeye, without skipping a beat, told the boy, "We'll do our best," but when he turned to me, the look in his eye told me there was no way he could save the leg and he was counting on me to decide whether the boy should be told about it then or not at all. I had no idea how the hell I was going to be able to make that decision, but I still nodded to Hawkeye. I had a job to do. When Hawkeye left us, however, it was obvious that he hadn't fooled Sergeant Chevaux.

"Is that doctor a friend of yours, Father?"

"Yes, he is; and he's a very fine surgeon. You'll be in very good hands, Jean-Pierre."

"You call me Horsey," he drawled. "And you do me a favor, Father?"

"Anything I can, Horsey."

"You tell your friend the doctor that if he cuts off my leg, I don't want to wake up. You _comprend_ (sic)?"

I swallowed hard, thinking quickly. "You're lucky to be alive, Horsey. Isn't it better to be alive with one leg than dead with two?"*

"Not for Horsey Chevaux, it ain't. I'm Cajun, Father. I live in bayou country, what some people call a swamp. You don't get around the swamp on one leg and a crutch. Horsey Chevaux don't want to spend the rest of his life with people carrying him around."

"Isn't that really God's decision to make?" I asked, trying to spiritually reason with him.

"Then maybe if God is good, like I believe all these years, he let me die in there." Horsey paused and looked up at the ceiling. "He is gonna take off the leg, the doctor, ain't he?"

I couldn't lie… "Your leg is very badly hurt, Horsey."*

"Then I ask God to let me die," he said, strongly convicted.

I sat with him while he received the blood, trying in vain to think of something to say, some way to make him believe that losing his leg wouldn't be the end of the world, but each attempt was rebuffed with his determination to die if his leg couldn't be saved. By the time Hawkeye came back to check on Horsey, I felt sick with my failure. Hawkeye seemed to sense my distress and he placed a hand on my shoulder as he talked to Horsey.

"How do you feel, Dutch?"

"Doc, you gonna try to save my leg?"

"I'll do my best."

"If your best isn't good enough, just pull the plug, will you? I beg you, Doc! I never begged no man for nothing before."

"No, I don't suppose you have," Hawkeye was genuine and serious now. He paused, clicking his tongue in the way that always indicated to me he was thinking deeply, then he spoke again. "Tell you what, Dutch, you get Dago Red to put in a good word for you with his boss, and we'll shoot for a miracle."

When Horsey looked at me, the simple words "pray for me, Father" falling from his lips, I felt my stomach clench. This was going to be the biggest fix I had ever put in for…

Oddly enough, my prayers were more for Hawkeye to be successful in saving that boy's leg than they were for Horsey to pull through and have peace with whatever the outcome would be.

Hawkeye went against regulations to try and save Horsey's leg—spending too much time and too many resources to do all that he could do. Circumstances like theses were pretty cut and dry by army standards—chop it and move on. Hawkeye had tried to stretch the artery so he could sew the two ends back together, but too much had been torn out by the shrapnel. Just when it looked like the end was near and amputation was the only option, Hawkeye asked Trapper if he remembered anything about the saphenous vein.

"I seem to recall it was located somewhere between the knee and the scrotum," Trapper answered.

"Damn, Hawkeye," Ugly John groused. "You're going to try a saphenous vein graft?"

Hawkeye did more than try, though. I watched from the head of the table as Hawkeye located the vein and began to cut away a section of it. I didn't speak—I was still praying my guts out—but I watched Hawkeye suture the ends of the femoral artery to the graft, release the clamps, fix the bleeders, and then we held our breath as Ugly John left his equipment long enough to go to the end of the table.

"Beautiful," he smiled, his black mustache twitching upwards. "He's got a pulse in his foot."

I heaved a heavy sigh of relief and Hawkeye looked over at me, his eyes slightly obscured by his tinted glasses, but I could still tell he was grinning. "Good work, Dago."

"Thank Him," I indicated my head towards the heavens. "All I did was put in the request."

"You did more than you think," he said softly as he began to close.

I needed air. I left the OR and leaned against the side of the building heavily, trying not to imagine what would have happened if they'd taken the boy's leg. He hadn't been the first person to ask for death, but he'd been among the first I hadn't been able to convince that any life was better than the alternative. I had a hard time coping with the ones like Horsey…

Hawkeye joined me several moments later, still wearing a bloody scrub top as he pulled his pack of cigarettes from the rolled up sleeve. He lit up and blew out a long line of smoke before he offered it to me, just like he had countless times before. This time, I accepted. Hawkeye looked over at me, eyebrows raised as I sucked the butt of the cigarette long and hard, watching the paper and tobacco burning away. There was something satisfying and calming about it all, despite the bitter taste of the smoke in my mouth.

"Jesus, baby, you okay?" Hawkeye asked with a soft, albeit concerned, laugh as I took a second drag on his cigarette. I watched him pull another cigarette from the pack and light it.

"Why am I so terrible at consoling the wounded, Hawkeye?" I asked as he leaned next to me.

"What are you talking about, Dago? You're extraordinary. Why do you think I wanted you to tell him rather than me?"

"I couldn't convince him that a life with no leg was better than no life with two legs."

"Babe, I don't think God himself could have convinced that kid."

"I'm glad you were able to save his leg."

"Yeah, though my butt's probably going to be in a sling now. I gotta figure out some way to keep him here a few days. If he gets to another hospital and they see what I did, they might just cut the leg off to teach me not to go against regulations again."

"Would they really do that?" I asked, horrified by the possibility.

"I dunno," he shrugged. "Probably not, but either way I'll be in a lot of shit for this. Not that I really care what the army has to say, but I don't want to wind up being transferred to a battalion aid station or something where I really can't do anything for those kids."

I hadn't thought about what might happen in the way of disciplinary action if Hawkeye was caught. The thought of him being transferred out was unsettling to say the least. "Could we put him in the VIP tent and make up a story about who he is and why he's here?"

Sometimes my ideas surprised even me… Hawkeye was looking at me strangely, obviously considering my suggestion. "You know, babe, that just might work." He grabbed the back of my neck and pulled my head down, kissing my forehead. "You're a genius."

I laughed softly, watching him get up and toss his cigarette down, stamping it out. He went back in through the post-op doors and I got up, stamped out my own butt, and went to my tent.

After that day, I no longer passed when Hawkeye—or anyone—offered me a smoke. It was still mostly a social habit, something I did around Hawkeye or the other boys, but I gradually began to crave cigarettes when I was on my own. Intellectually, I knew that it was the nicotine in the tobacco that my body was craving, but there was something psychologically linked to that craving and the physical touch of holding the cigarette between your fingers, putting it to your lips, breathing in and blowing out. There was an odd sense of comfort in the act of smoking.

I started keeping my own pack of cigarettes, started lighting up when I was alone, and in a few short weeks, I was smoking just as regularly as anyone else in the camp. Hawkeye had commented on this change saying that he really was a bad influence on me, but the tone had been more amusement than culpability. I found, though, that smoking did help ease my anxiety whenever I thought about Hawkeye's eventual leaving, but that was a double edged sword, as the habit only seemed to increase as we moved through the days of November and found ourselves in the December snows.

"If there's anything I hate more than the rain in Korea," Hawkeye had said one morning as we sat at breakfast. "It's the snow."

"What do you have against snow?" I asked as I sipped my coffee. "I think it's quite beautiful."

"That's the problem," he replied. "It doesn't belong here in this hellhole. Right now it's pretty—serene and glistening all pristine out there on the ground—but the minute the wounded come into camp and trail their blood everywhere, it's going to be ugly again. It's going to remind us all just where the hell we are."

I rested my leg against his beneath the table comfortingly as Duke and Trapper muttered their concurrence to Hawkeye's sentiment. I understood what they meant, that the war ruined all happiness here, but I was glad that I hadn't yet become as cynical as they had—I could still appreciate beauty while it lasted.

"What are we going to do today, gentlemen?" Hawkeye asked, squeezing my knee gently under the table.

"Sleep." Trapper replied. "Some of us worked last night's shift."

"Killjoy." Hawkeye retorted. "What about you, Duke?"

"Sorry, Hawk, I'm helping Hotlips in the supply tent, if you know what I mean."

"Well, Dago, it looks like it's just you and me today."

I was not disappointed by that in the slightest. "Would you care for a game of gin rummy?"

"What's the wager?" He asked, looking at me as his hand slowly slid up the inside of my thigh under the table. I felt my face turning red.

"Whatever you want," I told him, unable to think of anything witty to say as I focused on his hand and the fact that we were surrounded by the others.

"A bottle of your good hooch," he replied, "To share with the person of my choosing."

I nodded dumbly and he withdrew his hand from my leg with a satisfied grin. We all got up to leave as a group, walking side by side through the layer of snow on the ground. I looked at my feet and saw that one of my laces had come untied so I stopped and knelt down to tie it, but when I looked back up, I got a face full of snow as Hawkeye launched a snowball at me.

"Hawkeye!" I cried, wiping the wet snow from my eyes. He was doubled over laughing and I glared at him as I gathered up a large handful of snow myself, balling it up and hurling it at him. He ducked, but I still had managed to hit him in the shoulder. He bent again and scooped up another ball of snow and I scrambled to get another one myself. His hit me in the chest and mine caught him in the knee. We were both laughing almost hysterically as we raced to see who could get off the most shots. Trapper, Duke and several others in the camp had joined in our fun and I was breathless as most of them all attacked Hawkeye, though I was pelted from different directions several times as well. I was about to throw another snowball at Hawkeye when someone pulled back the hood of my coat and smashed a giant ball of snow on my head, grinding it into my hair. I looked up to see Trapper grinning at me as Duke handed him another handful of snow. Trapper pulled back my coat and the neck of my shirt and dropped the snow down my back.

I gasped as the cold snow burned my heated skin and leapt to my feet, trying desperately to pull my coat off as I hopped around. Hawkeye, Trapper and Duke were practically on their knees in the snow, laughing as hard as they could until I'd managed to shuck my jacket and pull my shirt tails out of my trousers, flapping the back of them to get the ice out of my shirt. I reached down, scooped up another handful of snow and pelted Trapper right between the eyes.

A truce was called and the impromptu camp-wide snowball fight was over. Hawkeye and I resumed our course to my tent, with him still chuckling in amusement. We reached my tent, kicked the snow off our boots, and went inside. The stove had kept it relatively warm inside and we both began to take off our coats. Hawkeye grinned as he faced me, running his hands through my hair and dislodging several flecks of snow that had stayed stuck.

"You're right, Dago, the snow isn't all that bad."

I shook my head, rolling my eyes even though I was smirking softly. "Yes, well, I'm holding you personally responsible if I end up with pneumonia."

"Don't worry," he smiled and kissed me gently. "If you do, I'll take care of you."

I slid my tongue in his mouth, deepening the kiss. He tasted just the way I liked—coffee and his morning cigarette. I would never be able to associate the combination with anything but Hawkeye Pierce.

Hawkeye unbuttoned my shirt with practiced fingers, pushing it back and biting down on my shoulder through the black turtleneck I was wearing underneath. His hands worked open my belt and fastenings, then quickly lowered my trousers as he dropped down to his knees in front of me. His teeth sank deep into my hip over the bone and I dropped my head back with a pleased groan as I twined my fingers in his hair. It had grown a little shaggy over the last month, his bangs often hanging low over his eyes. I found it incredibly attractive…

When his mouth engulfed me, I gripped his shoulders, my knees going weak. His hands wrapped around the back of my legs, running up over the curve of my backside before his fingers gently parted me, brushing over the point of penetration. I ran my fingers through his hair continuously, watching the strands slip between each digit before they recoiled and fell back over his forehead. Hawkeye looked up at me through his disheveled bangs, then pushed two of his fingers inside of me with his mouth still firmly sucking my member.

I cried out at the unexpected wave of pleasure, unable to suppress myself as my body trembled with the threat of a premature release. Through all of our sexual exploits over the past couple of months, never once had he been both inside of me and pleasuring me orally, and the sensation was almost too much.

"Ben…" I whispered, completely breathless as he furiously worked me with his lips, teeth and tongue. His fingers were probing, pulsing, pushing deep inside of me…and then he stopped, quickly getting to his feet. I opened my eyes to look at him, confused and curious as to what had made him pull away, but he spun me around and pushed me towards my desk, forcing me to bend over and brace myself with my hands against the surface. I heard the sound of his belt as he unhooked it, working his pants down around his knees before he took hold of my hip with one hand and entered me. I groaned, pushing further back into him. As he thrust into me, the force drove me forward, making my tags jingle around my neck, but when I moved to take them off, he stopped me.

"Leave them," Hawkeye murmured against my ear.

I raised my eyebrows and looked at him over my shoulder, "You usually hate when they make too much noise."

"Usually," he smirked, thrusting into me roughly, making them jingle just to prove his point.

The wood grain was coarse against my hands, but the desk was solid enough for me to lean into without it wobbling or moving under the strain. I closed my eyes, losing myself again in the pleasure he doled out to me. He was breathless and grunting behind me, exerting all of his effort into this single act of passion.

"You drive me wild, Dago," he said in a low voice, kissing the back of my neck. I felt myself blush, wondering what it was about me he couldn't seem to get enough of, but understanding it all the same. The newness of our relationship had worn off some time ago, but the thrill and excitement of it still remained. I still thought about Hawkeye almost every minute of the day, still anticipated our time together—be it sexual or otherwise—and still loved him from tip to toe.

Hawkeye peaked first, muffling his cry of bliss against the thick cotton blend of the turtleneck I was wearing, his hands slipping beneath the material and roaming across my chest and abdomen before he took me into his hand to stroke me. I was close, but couldn't seem to quite get there for whatever reason and finally I gave up, gently taking a hold of Hawkeye's wrist.

"I don't think I can, Hawk…"

"What's the matter, baby?" he asked softly, kissing the shell of my ear.

"I don't know," I confessed. "I just can't…"

"I think you can," he murmured, turning me back around. He leaned in, kissing me sweetly, then lowered himself once again to his knees, his pants still around his ankles. "Just relax, Dago."

My eyes slid close again as he took me back into his mouth and his hand cupped my testicles. The gentle but firm vacuum of his mouth made me feel swollen with the need for more. I rested my hands behind me on the surface of the desk and pushed myself deeper into his mouth. Hawkeye made a soft gagging noise and I realized I'd pushed a little too deep. I felt my face burst into flame.

"Sorry," I told him, meekly.

He merely hummed his acceptance of my apology, vibrating me pleasantly, and I shuddered, almost losing control. Hawkeye seemed to know how close I was, because he hummed again and again each time I was at the back of his throat. I was moaning almost continually as he brought me closer and closer to my release, digging my fingers into the planks of wood on my desk and biting down on my lip to try and muffle the sound. I could taste the coppery tang of blood as I pierced the skin on my lip when Hawkeye held me deep in his throat and hummed rhythmically, his hands squeezing my testicles. I gripped his head with one hand, my hips bucking forward almost uncontrollably as I tried to push myself over the edge.

He squeezed me tighter as he sucked harder, and I cried out as I was finally able to find my release. I felt light-headed and shaky as I emptied myself into his mouth, my vision growing dark and narrow as if I was in a tunnel, pin pricks of light exploding behind my eyes. It was hard to believe that pleasure of this magnitude was possible. It always felt good whenever I came, but there had only been a few times…maybe only twice now…that it had felt _this_ good.

My knees buckled as Hawkeye withdrew me from his mouth, but his hands were pressing against my thighs—holding me upright—as he looked up at me and swallowed, then smirked. "Told you you could."

I gave him a sleepy, satisfied smile and he pulled himself to his feet, drawing me into his arms.

"You gotta stop biting your lip so hard, baby," he murmured before gently sucking my bleeding bottom lip into his mouth.

I pulled back, aghast. "Hawkeye!"

"What? It's okay. I'm kissing it better." He leaned in again but I turned my head.

"I'm _bleeding_." I said pointedly, appalled that he had tasted my blood…and willingly.

"Well, you've drank enough sacramental wine, I bet I'm tasting the blood of Christ."

"Hawkeye!" I admonished, pushing him back. I knew lately I had let him get away with saying some very blasphemous things, and even I had made a joke or two—which made me even more reprehensible than him—but that comment had simply gone too far.

"Come on, baby, it was just a joke."

"It's not 'just a joke' to me, Hawkeye. My faith is _not_ a joke." I said seriously. "I'd really appreciate it if you'd stop being such a horse's ass when it comes to God and Christianity and the Bible."

He looked thoroughly chastised. "I'm sorry, Dago. You know I'm never being serious when I say shit like that. I'm sorry I offended you."

"It just makes this a harder cross to bear sometimes," I told him softly.

"How do you mean?"

He stepped closer into me, sliding his hands around my waist, and I looked down at our bare lower halves, unable to stop the laughter from bubbling out of me at the absurdity of it. He looked at me oddly. "Can we at least pull our pants up, Hawkeye. I can't talk about how this makes me feel spiritually when my trousers are hugging my ankles."

He smirked but let me go and we both pulled up our pants before he hooked his finger in my belt loop and tugged me to him, gracefully turning us, letting gravity pull us down into the cot, with him landing on top of me.

"I think I understand what you mean," he said before I could open my mouth again. "And I promise I'll stop making cracks of the religious variety. At least in reference to what we're doing."

"Thank you."

"It's just too easy sometimes, though," He continued with a devilish smirk. "There are so many good ones that I haven't said because I knew it would piss you off."

I sighed and rolled my eyes, my curiosity getting the better of me. "Like what?"

He smirk and shook his head, "I really shouldn't tell you…but, probably the best one I ever had was the first time you sucked me off. I thought something akin to how well you could speak in tongues."

I shook my head, but laughed all the same. "You're incorrigible."

"Yeah, but you laughed." He leered, rolling on his side next to me and reaching up to the shelf above my bed to grab my cigarettes and the Zippo lighter that Trapper had given me after growing tired of me always asking for a light or a match. Hawkeye tapped out two cigarettes from the pack, put them both between his lips, flicked on the Zippo flame and lit them both before he passed one to me.

"Thanks."

"Can I ask you something, Dago?" Hawkeye questioned, his tone quite serious.

"Of course."

"Why do you love me?"

We'd had a conversation similar to this many months ago when we'd first tried to determine what exactly our feelings entailed, but neither of us could really say more than it was just simply a feeling. There was no obvious reason for it then, and I wasn't sure there was one now, but I tried to consider the question a little more thoughtfully.

I rolled on my side to face him. "Because you're Benjamin Franklin Pierce from Crabapple Cove, Maine; the son of a lobsterman who loved The Last of The Mohicans so much that he called you Hawkeye. Because you're the confident doctor that strolled into this camp and said to me 'don't let the door hit you on the ass' the first time I'd come to try and console you after you'd lost a patient, but then drank me under the table with my own booze and—after I'd passed out—wrapped me in gauze like a mummy and taped me to a cot, posting a sign outside the tent advertising for people to come see a pickled priest. Because you've played countless pranks like that on me and others, painting yourself to be a real jack ass, but when we're alone, I get to see who the real Hawkeye Pierce is—his fierce loyalty and devotion, his pain and anguish, his insecurities. But mainly because when I think of you, and when I'm near you, I feel that you're my amici intimi."

"What is that?" he asked softly.

"My intimate friend…my soul mate, more or less."

"You really think of me as your soul mate?" He murmured, his gaze softening.

I nodded. We held each other's gaze for a long moment and I cleared my throat softly. "Why…um…why do you love me?"

"Now you're putting me on the spot," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You know I can't come up with anything even as remotely nice as what you just said."

"I'd still like to know."

He took a drag on his cigarette, brushing ash off his chest as it fell from the lit end. "What was it Danny used to call you?"

"His Condemned Angel," I said, wondering why he was bringing that up again. "Angelus Damnata."

"Don't get angry," he prefaced softly. "But when you told me that story, I thought it was really a beautiful nickname for you. And…well…it's fitting for you; then as well as now. I told you a long time ago that you're my light in the darkness, Dago. You make me happy, Dago. Being with you is really the only thing that does."

I smiled widely at him. "You make me happy, too, Hawkeye."

"Not to mention you're great in bed."

I scoffed and rolled my eyes, knowing the solemn moment was now over.

"Think you'll bang anyone after I'm gone?" he asked, his curiosity sincere at least.

"No. I never intended to 'bang' you."

"Ah, but what if my replacement sweeps you off your feet too? He could end up being twice as charming as I am. And, who knows, maybe he'll be a mackerel snapper like you."

I gave him a stern look at the deprecating nickname for Catholics, but answered him all the same. "Regardless of his faith, or how charming he may or may not be, Hawkeye, I'm not interested."

"How do you know? You haven't seen him yet."

"I'm not interested." I repeated, firmly. His insistence that I would find another lover was a little disconcerting to me. I wasn't sure if he was still just teasing me or not, but I didn't appreciate his attempt to try and sway me towards another relationship. He got the message the second time and backed off, turning on his back as he smoked his cigarette, reaching across me to flick his ash on my floor. I made a mental note to get an ashtray at some point in the near future.

A strange silence fell over us as we both finished our cigarettes and smashed the cherries out on a 2x4 support beam that ran at a diagonal next to my cot. He pulled me into his arms and I settled my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes as he massaged my scalp and finger-combed my hair.

I couldn't stop thinking about what he had said, and it was bringing thoughts to mind that I had resolved not to think about…

"Hawkeye…?" I licked my lips nervously. "Do you…do you think I'm…homosexual?"

"I think I've decided there is no such thing as hetero- or homo- sexual. I think there is jut sexual and non-sexual, and I think we both fall into the sexual category." He answered, philosophically speaking. "You've only had experiences with me and Danny, right?"

"Right." I paused. "But you're the only person I've ever been in love with."

"What about attraction? Have you been attracted to anyone else before?"

"I've admired people's appearances," I answered, thoughtfully. "I can appreciate beauty in both men and women, but I haven't been sexually attracted before, at least not to this degree."

"Really? Not even as a teenager?" He asked, surprised. "Never had a hard on?"

"Well, of course I have." I laughed softly. "I think at that age it's not really something you can control. But…I don't really remember if there was anyone I specifically lusted after. I'm sure I must have noticed girls, but I never dated anyone."

"Jesus Christ, Dago. Seriously?"

I shrugged softly, "I was too shy to pursue anyone. I spent most of my time with my nose in a book. In senior high school, I talked to girls and had friends who were girls, and I thought they were pretty, but…I don't know, Hawkeye, it never really crossed my mind to ask them out."

"So Danny was literally your first everything?"

"Yeah… pretty much."

Hawkeye climbed over me in the cot and got to his feet, pulling on his coat. "Wait here; I'll be right back."

I watched Hawkeye leave, seeing large snowflakes falling from the sky as he hurried out into the cold. I laid back in my cot and considered my own question…was I homosexual? By the technical definition, there was no doubt I was. I had only ever engaged in sexual activity with other men. But was that by design or by coincidence?

Either way I knew what the Bible said about such things. Homosexuality—in any capacity—was an abomination to God. I knew I couldn't reconcile my faith with my sins, that's why I had resolved not to think about it in the first place, but in moments like this I couldn't help but worry about it and wonder just how angry God would be with me when my time on earth was up. Still…despite the fury of His impending wrath, I couldn't stop loving Hawkeye.

Hawkeye came back into my tent, stamping snow off his boots. "Damn winter in Korea…It's gotta be below zero out there."

I smirked as he whined, watching him take off his coat before he tossed a magazine at me. I looked at the cover and saw a young woman with exposed breasts and I blushed deeply, turning it over as if to cover her for propriety's sake.

"Hawkeye! What's the meaning of this?"

He grinned as he crawled back over me and settled beside me on the cot, snuggling close for warmth. "Come on, give it a look, Dago. See if any of the girls strike your fancy."

"Hawkeye, it's _pornographic_!"

"It's gotta be if you're gonna see the goods." He raised his eyebrows at me. "Unless you want me to enlist the support of the nurses and have them troop through your tent with their tops off."

"Hawkeye!" I exclaimed, scandalized.

He laughed raucously and nudged the magazine. "Come on, baby; there's nothing wrong with looking."

I wanted to point out every verse of the Bible that said just the opposite, but I found—once again—that my curiosity had gotten the better of me. Maybe if I found myself aroused by at least one of the girls in the magazine, I would know that I wasn't a _complete_ disgrace to God, and maybe wouldn't burn in Hell for all eternity.

I sighed and closed my eyes as I flipped to the first page.

"It's not Braille, Dago, you can't feel your way through the pictures…unfortunately."

"You're not helping," I said dryly as I gathered the courage to peek open one eye. The women were, indeed, gifted in the way of their assets, and the magazine photos—thankfully—were at least somewhat tasteful.

"Let me know if any of them do something for you."

I vaguely nodded and allowed myself to fully look at each picture, studying the curves of each woman's breasts, waist, hips, buttocks, legs, or whatever else the photograph allowed me to see. Some women had small breasts, some quite large. Some nipples were long, some were short, some were fat, some seemed to be inverted. Though nothing had 'struck my fancy' yet, I found I preferred darker-haired women with medium-sized breasts and proportionate nipples.

"Nothing?" Hawkeye asked beside me after I'd gotten near the last page.

I shrugged softly. "I have a preference, at least, but I don't feel the desire to have sex with any of these girls."

"Which ones do you like?"

I pointed out a few of the ones I had found striking and Hawkeye nodded approvingly. "Brunettes, huh?

"Yeah," I laughed softly. "Strange since both you and Danny are both on the blonde side."

"Maybe you just prefer blonde men and brunette women." Hawkeye supposed.

"I guess, but I still can't picture myself with any of these women, Hawkeye."

He clicked his tongue in thought for a moment. "You remember Dish don't you, babe?"

"Lt. Schneider? Yes of course. She was here a long while before you arrived."

"Did you find her attractive?"

"I never thought of her in that way," I shook my head. "She was a married woman, and I don't make a habit of sexualizing people, even in my private thoughts."

"You can find someone attractive without wanting to have sex with them, Dago."

Reluctantly, I admitted, "She was a very stunning young woman, yes."

"Close your eyes and pretend for a minute that she wasn't married—that she was completely available."

I sighed but did as he told.

"Now, pretend that instead of coming to me about Painless, you went to Lt. Dish and she touched you like I did."

I imagined the scene in my mind, but I couldn't sync up the way the touch had made me feel to Lt. Scheinder. "I'm sorry, Hawkeye, I guess my imagination isn't that good."

"What if you pretend you're not a priest?" He asked. "Pretend…hell, pretend you're me. Before she left, she and I would fool around a bit. I never got all the way, though…"

I wasn't surprised by this revelation. I tried to imagine myself in Hawkeye's shoes. Rather than envisioning my memory about Painless, I envisioned myself as Hawkeye lying in a cot with Lt. Dish, but I still couldn't imagine the touch or kiss of a woman, as I had never experienced either. Maybe that was the problem… I voiced as much to Hawkeye.

"Well, babe, the only solution—as I see it—is to have one of the nurses show you how it's done."

"Absolutely not." I shook my head. "I'm not dragging an innocent girl into this just to satisfy my own curiosity."

"Come on, Dago, it's not like she'd be forced—"

"No."

"I'm sure there would be several volunteers for the cause—"

"Hawkeye…"

"We could have a spin-the-bottle tournament and you'd have a chance to kiss any number of nurses—"

"Hawkeye!" I reached up and covered his mouth with my hand to shut him up. "I said no."

"Okay, okay…it was just a suggestion." He conceded, pulling my hand away from his mouth. "Honestly, though, Dago…what does it matter? Does having a label for this change anything?"

He had a point. It didn't change anything. Whether or not I was homosexual didn't mean much, except that I had more to feel ashamed about. It didn't change what I'd done with Danny or with Hawkeye, it didn't diminish my love for him, it didn't change the fact that my vow of chastity was pretty much a joke at this point, and it didn't mean I was going to stop sinning just because I had a name for it.

The only thing I worried about was what it meant for me as an active priest, and the hypocrisy of anything I preached. While I fully accepted the consequence of my actions, how could I help others atone for their sins when I refused to atone for my own? Would God continue to speak through me? Did I deserve to call myself a leader of His Church? None of these thoughts were new to me, either, but—deep down—I still felt I belonged in the priesthood. I still loved God wholeheartedly…this was just my struggle, and I knew it was selfishness that kept me from casting off my desires altogether. I didn't want this to end.

"No," I finally said in answer to his question. "It doesn't change anything."

He kissed me, slow and softly before telling me to, "Stop worrying about it, then."

Hawkeye's interest in my lack of attraction to other people didn't wane after that conversation, and—in fact—he started pointing people out to me, asking whether or not I thought they were attractive. He focused mainly on blonde men and brunette women, nudging me in the side with a soft "eh?"

"Would you cut it out?" I finally asked after the 3rd nudge in a row. We were putting up a Christmas tree and hanging decorations in the mess tent, and the incessant pestering was starting to kill off my Christmas spirit.

"What? I'm just curious." He said innocently.

"Well, go be curious somewhere else," I answered hotly. "How many times do I have to say that I'm not interested, Hawkeye? I'm starting to feel like you're trying to pass me off on someone else."

"Of course I'm not," he said quietly as he picked up a clamp and hung it on one of the branches of the tree. "I'm sorry; I'll behave."

I snorted with derisive laughter. "I'll believe that when I see it…and maybe not even then."

He was quiet for several moments as we worked in tandem to decorate the tree with surgical equipment, then he looked at me. "What do you want for Christmas, Dago?"

"Peace on Earth and good will to men." I replied, not skipping a beat, and only mildly joking. I did pray for such things on a nightly basis.

"I'm not sure Santa can fit that in his sleigh."

"Oh…" I said, feigning disappointment. "Well, I guess I'll just settle for a pair of warm socks, then."

He laughed loudly. "Socks? You really want socks?"

I shrugged and looked over at him, barely able to contain my amusement. "Why not? The ones the army gives us are paper thin. I have to wear three or four pairs at night to keep my feet from turning into blocks of ice."

"That's it though? Just socks?"

I laughed at his astonishment. "I'm a man of few material needs."

"I'm glad you specified 'material' in there." He smirked.

I laughed again, then asked him, "What about you, Hawkeye? What do you want for Christmas?"

"Lots of sex and a bottle of cognac."

"Oh, is that so?" I chuckled.

"I'm also a man of few _material_ needs."

About that time, Radar wandered through with the mail bag, shuffling through the stack in his hand as he passed out the mail. "Hiya Father, hiya Hawkeye."

"Hello, Radar." I smiled.

"I've got some mail for you, Hawkeye, do you want it now or should I just leave it on your bunk?"

"I'll take it."

Radar handed over several letters to Hawkeye, then bid his farewells and wandered off again.

"Don't you ever get mail?" Hawkeye asked as he flicked through the stack.

"Not typically." I shrugged. "Updates from the military vicar's office, but that's about the extent of it. My mother sends me a card at Christmas and one around my birthday."

"When is your birthday?" He asked curiously.

"March 17th."

"Jesus Christ, could you be any more Irish?"

I laughed softly. "When is yours?"

"May 9th." He said softly, looking at an envelope. "Hey, babe…I think this is for you. It's from Tibet."

I nearly dropped the scissors I was holding as I looked over. I'd forgotten that Hawkeye had written Tseten for me. He held the envelope out to me and smiled. "Wanna open it?"

I took the envelope and sat down at one of the tables as I carefully broke the wax seal that had been stamped with the Tibetan symbol for the Aum. I withdrew a fragile looking piece of parchment and began to read out loud.

_Namaste Kra Sang-po._

_Many thanks for your writings to me. Please give my warmest greetings to Dhrog-po-po. I am very happy to hear of him. He is greatly missed in Lhasa. Please tell him that his church has prospered, though much fighting is happen in Tibet. Dhrog-po-po is great friend to Lhasa and to monks. All have wished him very best. I would greatly like to see him again. One day I shall hope so._

_You are good friend to write for Dhrog-po-po. I thank you, Kra Sang-po—kind and generous hawk. Please tell him that monks have given him Tibetan name— Kipu Tenzin; happy keeper of Dharma. He may write me with that name. I wish again to hear from you._

_Namaste,_

_Kamala Tseten_

Hawkeye was sitting on top of the table next to the Christmas tree, listening intently as I read the letter. I started to get a little choked up near the end and had to clear my throat several times and wipe my eyes. I looked up at Hawkeye as I finished and found him smiling softly.

"Thank you, Hawkeye…I can't tell you what this means to me." I sniffed. "Thank you so much for writing to him."

"You're welcome…Kipu." He grinned.

I laughed and sniffed again, wiping another tear that fell as I folded the letter and carefully replaced it in the envelope. "Can I keep this?"

"Of course. I think it's written more to you than me, anyways."

"Not necessarily," I shook my head. "He's given you a nickname, which means that he considers you a good friend. He wouldn't ask you to write if he didn't really want you to."

"So what does it mean that the monks have given you a Tibetan name? I'm assuming that's a big honor?"

"Oh, yes…very big. It's a sign of immense respect, especially since I'm not a Buddhist. It means they consider me one of their own." I tucked the envelope into a chest pocket on my shirt and heaved a sighed, feeling light and happy and unable to stop smiling. I was sad to hear about the fighting in Tibet, but I knew that civil war was still raging on, even with China focusing most of its efforts on helping the North Koreans. It was wonderful to hear that he was alive and well and that the church had continued to thrive in my absence. The Maryknolls must have sent someone soon after my arrest—or release—to tend to the flock. God Bless them…

I wondered if Tseten and I would ever see one another again. Like him, I hoped we would, but at least he had given me a way to write to him under a Tibetan name. So long as I never gave my real name, or any specific details, any letters that were intercepted wouldn't raise suspicions. I was exceptionally delighted by the prospect.

"It's getting hard to keep up with all your names," Hawkeye teased, shrugging into his coat and pulling out his cigarettes. He offered one to me and I took it, placing it between my lips as I grabbed my own coat and followed him outside to smoke. "Dago Red, Dhrog-po-po, Kipu Tenzin…I feel like I'm forgetting some."

"Well, stick with me a little longer and you'll end up with a list of names too, Kra Sang-po." I ribbed back.

We lit our cigarettes, standing under an eave of the building as we watched the heavy afternoon snow start falling. We could hear the sound of a jeep's tires crunching through the snow and ice on the ground as it made its way towards camp, and though we couldn't see it yet, we wagered on what it would be about.

"Wounded?" I asked, listening for the sound of choppers and looking to see if Radar would be rushing to tell everyone that we had incoming wounded.

Hawkeye looked in the direction of the main office as well, but shook his head. "Sounds like just one jeep."

"Sounds like they've got the pedal to the metal." I remarked, listening to the roar of the engine drawing closer.

We watched the jeep slide on a sheet of ice around the last bend in the road before he entered camp, narrowly avoiding going into a tailspin. There appeared to only be one person in the jeep—just the driver.

"What in the hell does he think he's doing driving like that?" Hawkeye muttered.

We watched the jeep skid to a halt, leaving a long set of tracks in the snow before the driver rushed up to us. "You a doctor?" He asked Hawkeye.

"Yeah, where's it hurt solider?" Hawkeye replied, throwing down his half-finished cigarette.

"I'm not injured. I've got 2 buddies at the battalion aid station. Choppers won't come and I couldn't bring them by jeep. We need help, fast. The doc there sent me to get someone."

"Alright, let me grab my kit. Dago, tell Henry where I'm going."

"I'm coming too," I said steadfastly. Hawkeye and the driver looked at me strangely. "You never know when you'll need a priest."

"Fine, get whatever you need to, and make it quick." Hawkeye said, rushing off to the Swamp for his med kit. I raced to my tent and grabbed the tools of my trade, then headed back to the jeep just as Hawkeye was climbing in the front. I hefted myself into the back, stepping on the back tire for leverage, seconds before the driver jammed the jeep into gear and sped out of camp. Snow was hitting me in the face, stinging like needles, and I tried to hunch over, dropping my head so that my helmet shielded me. I clung onto the back of Hawkeye's seat as the jeep swerved and lurched and slid all over the icy road, praying that God would protect us and keep the driver from rolling the damn thing.

A few minutes later, he slammed on the breaks again and we skidded to a halt outside the dilapidated tent of the battalion aid station. If anyone thought the MASH units were 'roughing it,' they'd never been this close to the front lines. Hawkeye and the driver leapt from the jeep and I quickly collected myself before climbing out over the side and following them inside the tent.

Just as the driver had said, there were two men in extremely bad shape. The aid doctor looked up as we enter.

"What took you so damn long?" He snapped. "I already lost one boy, god damn it!"

I looked and saw the fixed expression on one of the boy's bloody faces. He was, indeed, quite dead. I moved around Hawkeye towards the boy and felt someone grab my arm and jerk me back.

"The hell do you think you're doing?" the driver growled. "He ain't dead; get over there and fix him, doc."

"Touched as I am that you think I can give the gift of life," Hawkeye said, prying the boy's hand from my arm. "Your buddy is gone. Let Dago Red do his job, and this doctor and I will do our best to save your other buddy. If you think you can stay out of the way."

The boy backed down and stormed outside. I resumed my course towards the fallen soldier and began to administer the last rites as Hawkeye and the battalion aid doctor began to perform emergency surgery on the other boy. When I'd finished performing the last rites, I covered the body with a sheet, then moved to Hawkeye and the boy that was barely clinging onto life. I didn't need to be asked for a fix; I was already anointing the boy's forehead with holy oil and praying for God to heal him.

As I watched the surgery, waiting to lend a hand or a prayer or whatever else I could, the sound of an explosion shook the ground beneath our feet. Hawkeye and I both looked at each other in fear, but the battalion aid doctor didn't seem at all fazed.

"This kind of thing happen often?" Hawkeye asked tensely, working a little quicker.

"The sooner we fix this kid up and get you guys out of here, the better," the aid doctor replied. "When the shelling gets close, it means I'm about to be up to my asshole in bodies, and the choppers ain't flyin'."

"The shells ever get close enough to hit this tent?" Hawkeye asked as another explosion rocked us.

"It's still standing, ain't it?"

About that time a third shell hit, this one causing not only a loud explosion, but a fireball as well that sent a heat wave into the little tent, along with several large pieces of fragments. Hawkeye and the aid doctor instinctively covered their patient with their bodies as I hit the floor next to Hawkeye behind the gurney.

"What the hell was that!" Hawkeye cried out. I stood up and we both looked at the battalion aid doctor who was slumped over the body with a large piece of metal protruding from his spine, the singed insignia of the U.S. Army barely recognizable as a piece of the jeep we'd rode in on. The doctor was dead. "Oh…fuck! FUCK!"

Hawkeye felt for a pulse on the doctor, though even I could see that he was clearly gone. Hawkeye's hands were shaking and I looked down at my own, seeing they were no steadier.

"What do we do?" I asked in a terrified voice.

"I can't leave this kid," Hawkeye said. "Can you move him? Just…put him on the floor. Jesus…fuck…"

Hawkeye's rising panic was not helping me in the slightest, but I mentally assessed the situation for damage control as I moved around the gurney and pulled the doctor off of the wounded boy, carefully lowering him to the floor. 1. We were at the battalion aid station without permission from our commanding officer, and without the knowledge of anyone in camp. 2. We were being shelled by the enemy. 3. The jeep we'd arrived in had just been blown to smithereens. 4. The battalion aid doctor had just been killed. 5. Hawkeye's patient was still in dire need of care.

I knew I didn't have time to administer last rites on the doctor at that moment, so I pulled myself away and moved towards the tent flap.

"Dago!" Hawkeye cried out. "Get back here!"

"The other boy, Hawkeye," I told him. "He was outside…"

I knew Hawkeye was worried that a mortar was going to fall on my head, but I had to check on the other boy, even though I was fairly certain that he had suffered the same fate as the battalion aid doctor. The carnage that greeted me outside the tent was enough to force bile up from my stomach and I turned my head to vomit. What was left of the jeep was a twisted heap of metal. Parts were scattered across the ground and there was a scorch mark left by the explosion of the gas tank, but at least nothing was on fire. What was left of the driver was a spray of blood in white snow, like a watermelon had been dropped. He must have been standing directly beside the jeep when the shell had hit, and it had simply obliterated him.

I pulled myself together, scanned the horizon for any sign or the enemy or our guys, but saw nothing. I wondered if the next mortar would fall in our laps…

"He's gone…" I told Hawkeye shakily as I returned to him. He was trying to work on the boy by himself, fumbling the instruments as his hands shook. "Tell me what to do, Hawkeye."

"I don't know…" he said, shaking his head, his voice still near panic.

"Dr. Pierce," I said firmly, hoping to snap him out of it. "You have a patient who needs urgent care. What can I do?"

He looked at my across the table and took a deep breath, regaining a little composure. "I need you to look for shrapnel in his belly while I suture."

I nodded. There was no time to don gloves, so I simply—for lack of a better term—dug in.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye's POV

Two and a half months before I would get out of the goddamned army, and I was going to die at a battalion aid station from being bombed by goddamned mortars. Not only that, but Dago was going to die with me. God really was an asshole…

Seeing the other doc with a hunk of an army jeep sticking out of his back had really shaken me. All the shit I've seen doing meatball surgery, I've never seen someone bite it quite like that. It could have just as easily been me or Dago.

Trying to refocus on the kid bleeding to death on the table was almost impossible. This was the worst kind of nightmare. I was trying to assess what needed to happen first when Dago started to head for the tent flap.

What the fuck did he think he was doing! "Dago! Get back here!"

He looked at me over his shoulder, "The other boy, Hawkeye. He was outside."

Goddamn it…I watched Dago go outside, holding my breath and waiting for another explosion, before I tried to clamp off a bleeding artery on the kid.

 _We're gonna die._ I thought. _We're gonna die and no one knows where we are. Will they be able to identify us? How long would it take for them to inform Mary? Will she be waiting for me at the airport with Tommy and Charlie the day I was supposed to arrive home, watching anxiously as other military men disembark from the plane. Will she realize I wasn't on board? Will she worry? Will she laugh and think I'd missed my flight?_

"Dr. Pierce," Dago's loud, stern voice startled me out of my thoughts and I realized he was standing in front of me. How long had he been there? "You have a patient who needs urgent care. What can I do?"

Instruction…yes, I could give instruction…"I need you to look for shrapnel in his belly while I suture."

Dago and I worked together quickly, with him picking out shrapnel with his bare hands and me suturing quickly behind him. The boy needed blood, but short of sticking a straw in my own arm, there was nothing I could do about that.

"I hope you've still got an open connection to your boss," I told Dago. "We're up shit's creek without a paddle."

"At least the shelling has stopped for now," he replied. "But don't worry, I haven't stopped praying since we left the camp."

I wasn't comforted by the fact that the shelling had stopped. It could mean any number of things—they were reloading, they were moving closer, they were sending in foot soldiers to survey the carnage. I didn't want to consider the possibilities of capture, but I glanced up at Dago and could see the worry lines creasing his brow. He was thinking along the same lines as me.

"Can you get on the horn and try to reach Radar?" I asked. "We gotta get outta here. I know it's just a couple of miles, but I'd rather not be wandering around out there in the snow, unarmed, trying to carry this kid back."

Dago nodded and moved towards the radio to call for help. "I have no idea how to work this, but I'll do my best…"

I worked as quickly as possible, listening to Dago's mayday calls over the radio. Static was the only answer as he flipped between channels, repeating the call for help over and over again. The situation was going from bad to worse by the minute and I couldn't help but think of the last thing the battalion aid doc had said…more wounded would be coming our way. If they didn't come, it meant that the enemy was just over the ridge and Dago and I were sitting ducks. If they did come we were still in over our heads. To top it off, the sun was starting to set and the temperatures were dropping even further.

"You should have stayed at the camp," I told Dago as he finally gave up on the radio and came back to help me finish up with the kid.

"And leave all the excitement to you?" He joked flatly. "I told you, you never know when you'll need a priest. This definitely seems like one of those situations where I'm needed."

I bandaged the kid and covered him with all the available blankets, then looked around to see if there was anything else I could give the kid—blood, drugs, IV—but there was nothing else I could do for him. He would have to pull through on his own will and Dago's prayers until help came. I went to the small sink and pumped water into the basin and started washing my hands. Dago joined me, washing up as well.

"One of us should start back towards camp," he said quietly. "And seeing as how I'm not a doctor, I think it should be me."

"Are you nuts?" I asked, looking at him as if he'd just renounced his faith. "The sun is setting, we could be ambushed…I'm not letting you go out there alone, baby. Not on your life! You could get lost, you could get captured, you could freeze to death…No. We'll stay here and keep trying the radio."

"Hawkeye," he said firmly. "That boy is going to die if we don't get him back to camp. If more wounded come through here, we're going to be in serious trouble. It's a couple of miles; if I run, I can be there in less than half an hour."

Just as I opened my mouth to argue another mortar hit the ground somewhere nearby, sending a shockwave through the ground that knocked me into Dago and we both fell back against a metal tray holding gauze and bandages, toppling it to the floor and struggling to maintain our balance. As we clung to each other for support, I looked at him intensely. "That settles it…you're not going anywhere."

"What do you suggest we do?" He asked, having obviously changed his mind as well. "Any one of those shells could hit this tent."

"I know…" I was racking my brain for solutions, but had to admit that I had none. I spotted a bottle of whiskey near the battalion aid doctor's personal bunk and looked back at Dago. "I suggest we drink?"

"What?" He crinkled his brow in confusion, obviously having hoped for a better answer. I let go of him and went over to grab the bottle that was missing 1/3 of its contents. I shook it at him.

"We drink." He was looking at me in shocked disbelief and I sighed. "We're so close to the front lines we could spit on the North Koreans, we're being shelled, 2 of the guys who were alive an hour ago are dead, we don't have a jeep, no one knows where we are, the radio isn't working…I don't know about you, Dago, but I've learned when the odds are stacked against you, and you're presented with a bottle of booze…drink."

I sat on the cot, twisted off the lid and took a long hard pull on the bottle before looking at the label.

"You'll appreciate this one, babe; it's an Irish whiskey."

Dago reluctantly came and sat next to me on the cot, taking the whiskey from my hand as he looked at the label of Jameson 12 Year Old Special Reserve. "This feels wrong, Hawkeye." He said very softly.

"There's nothing right about this war, Dago."

"No…I suppose there's not." He sighed and held up the bottle. "To fallen comrades."

I watched him put the bottle to his lips and take a swig. As he passed it back to me, another shell landed somewhere outside and we both flinched, but didn't otherwise react. I took out my pack of smokes and offered him one, which he gratefully took.

"Why do you think they're shelling an aid station, anyways?" Dago asked as we lit up.

"Trying to cut off our guys from getting patched up, I would assume. I'm not a military strategist by any means, but seems to me the best way to take over a place is cutting off the resources of your enemy so that they have to fall back and concede the territory. They probably haven't hit the tent on purpose because if they can take it over, they can use it to fix up their own guys."

"And what will they do with us if they take over?"

I could hear the fear in his voice, could sense that he was thinking about the days of his imprisonment, but I wasn't sure how to allay those fears. The outcome for us, if the enemy did take over, was not good. We'd either be killed on sight or taken as Prisoners of War. I couldn't imagine that being a POW would be any more pleasant than his past experience. The best thing I could think to say was nothing at all. Maybe if I focused the conversation elsewhere, it would help take both our minds off of the situation.

"Why'd you decide to become a priest, Dago?" I asked as I swigged the whiskey.

He crinkled his brow again in confusion, looking at me as he tried to make the mental leap from our current circumstances to my asking about his past. "Uh…well…I grew up in the church and I was an altar boy, and I really admired the deacons and Father Gallagher. I thought it was really neat that they got to work for God, and they spoke in Latin, and they had beautiful vestments, but it wasn't until later in my college education that I truly felt called to the Church. I actually spent my undergraduate work getting bachelor degree in education and languages. I had planned to become a teacher, like my mother, but the Christmas before my expected graduation, I was attending Mass with my mother and father and…it just hit me, I guess. I knew that I was meant to go to seminary and become an ordained priest. I stayed and talked with Father Gallagher afterwards about how to go about applying and where I should go, and he told me about his alma mater in Maryland—Mount St. Mary's. He still had a few connections at the school, so with his help I applied, interviewed and was accepted."

"Do you ever regret becoming a priest?"

"No, not really."

I raised my eyebrows, "Not really?"

He laughed softly, "Let me see if I can explain… Priests are typically expected to be in charge of a parish, run a church… while that's great, it does get—forgive me, Lord—a little static and boring. I really love the missionary work I've done: traveling, learning about other religions, teaching others about God and His Word, bringing them to Christ; even being here as a chaplain has been more exciting than being in San Diego simply presiding over Mass every Sunday."

Another shell exploded, giving us pause as we both tensed. Dago took the whiskey from me and drank.

"I wish I'd known you back when you were in college," I commented, looking at him. "You've changed a lot just in the last few months, consider what you'd be like now if I'd known you then and gotten an early start on corrupting you."

Though I was kidding, he looked at me seriously. "Changed how?"

"I dunno, babe, you're just different."

"Well, what makes you say that? What's different about me?"

"Your attitude, the things you do, the things you say...the fact that you don't put up with any of my crap anymore." I smirked, but he looked skeptical. "It's not a bad thing, Dago, it's just…different."

"Yes, but different _how_ , Hawkeye?" He asked, a little exasperated.

I laughed and wrapped my arm around his neck, dragging him against me and kissing him deeply. "It's little things—like the fact that you smoke now. You didn't do that before we got involved, so I know that's my doing. You used to be a lot more shy and reserved, you used to blush easily…but all that's changed. You've become a lot more confident, baby. You've become more than just your title. I don't think any of us—me, Trap, Duke, Spearchucker, Painless, or any of the boys—see the priest first and the man second anymore. We see Dago Red, the guy that can hang loose with us, who also happens to be our camp's chaplain. You're…I dunno…you're one of us now, you know? You don't think you're different?"

"I noticed the increase in frequency of my drug and alcohol use," he murmured. "But I never considered that my confidence had changed. I just feel more comfortable around you and the boys, that's all."

"I'm no head shrink, baby, but if I had to guess, I would say that you've never really been able to be yourself around anyone before. You've always had rules and expectations to live up to—your dad, the church, the army. No one has ever given you much freedom to just be you until now."

Dago looked like he was seriously thinking about what I'd said when another shell landed close enough to shake the entire tent, making the light flicker. "I wish they'd cut that out." He growled, gripping my thigh.

"Yeah, so do I…" I gave his shoulders a squeeze and got off the cot to check on the wounded kid. His temp was still dangerously low despite all the blankets, and his pulse was weak. I started to take off my jacket and lay it over him and Dago stood as well, shucking his jacket and offering it to me. "You sure?"

"He needs them more than we do."

I eyed Dago's fur-lined ear-flapped cap and he seemed to read my mind. He took it off his head and moved to affix it to the kid's instead, arranging the ear flaps over his ears and gently tying it under his chin. I moved over to the tent flap and peered out. The sun had set now, leaving us in the shadow of darkness, the only glow in the little snow-filled gully coming from the one bulb hanging over head. I moved over to it and clicked it off, throwing us in complete darkness.

"Maybe if they can't see us, they won't shell us," I offered, no longer able to see Dago. I took out my lighter, flicked it on, and made my way back over to the cot. He joined me and we huddled close together for warmth and comfort.

"I could try the radio again, if you want."

"It's okay," I said softly. "I'd rather they didn't send anyone out here in the dark with the shelling going on."

"Do you think he's going to make it?"

"I don't know," I sighed. "He needs blood and to be warm. It's going to be a really rough night for him, I think."

"For all of us," Dago amended with a slight shiver.

I handed him the whiskey bottle and held him closer. "Could be worse, right?"

He laughed softly, "Are you the new face of optimism now?"

"What? You don't think I can be optimistic?" I asked with mock offense.

"Cynicism seems to be more your forte."

I laughed and ruffled his hair. "See, this is what I'm talking about with you being different. You're a lot more playful now. Sarcastic even."

"Maybe you're right; maybe I just haven't felt like I could ever be myself."

My eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness and I could see him turn his head up to look up at me. I bent forward a little and brushed my lips across his. "I'm glad you feel like you can be you around me."

"Me too," he murmured, pressing his lips firmly against mine.

We laid down on the cot, facing each other, tangling our arms and legs as we pressed our bodies close.

"Fuck, it's cold." I grumbled, burying my face against his neck.

"What do you plan on doing when you get back to the states?" He asked softly. I knew he was trying to help me take my mind off our surroundings the same way I had with my questions.

"Probably try and get a job at one of the hospitals. I'll probably end up at the VA hospital in Spruce Springs for a while. At least it's not too far from Crabapple Cove so the commute won't be too bad. I feel like I'm going to be really behind on some of the new procedures and whatnot since I've been here for almost two years. I'll have a lot of catching up to do."

"Think you'll stay a surgeon?"

"That's my area of expertise," I nodded softly. "I don't have a specialization, though."

"Like what?"

"Well, like Trapper; he's a chest cutter, specializes in thoracic surgery, and Spearchucker is a neurosurgeon, specializes in brain and spinal injuries."

"Could you get a specialization when get home?"

"It would take a couple of years under the right supervision to see me through the boards, but I could probably do it. I'll have to get a feel for the market when I get back home."

"You never wanted to be just a general practitioner?"

"Nah, they never see any real excitement. Swollen tonsils and head colds and that's about it. I like surgery because I feel like I'm fixing something, saving a life, making them better. Of course, here I just feel like Dr. Frankenstein; taking parts and cross-wiring bodies."

"I admire what you boys are able to do in the OR. Half the wounded that come in look—to me—like they don't have a chance, but you boys sew them back together and they make it. It's incredible."

"Not all of them make it." I reminded him.

"No, but the majority do, Hawkeye. That's the important thing."

I didn't want to talk about the wounded or meatball surgery anymore so I propped my head up on my hand and looked down at him. "So, Dago, explain something to me…why are there so many different jobs in the Catholic Church?"

"Jobs? You mean like priest, bishop, pope?"

"Yeah…how do you move up the line? Or can you?"

He laughed softly. "I could be promoted, yes; it would all depend on my service to the Church. The Pope is the one who really promotes people within the church. There is a hierarchy system with the Pope at the top, Bishops under him, Priests under the Bishops. There are Cardinals, which really don't do anything except serve as the Pope's advisors…his cabinet, if you will. Priests are the head of a parish—or church. Bishops are the head of the Diocese, which is in charge of all the local churches in one region. The Pope is in charge of all the bishops around the world, and serves as both his Diocese head and the head of the local parish- St. John Lateran Basilica in Rome. It's literally the Mother Church."

"So the Pope actually gives sermons on Sundays?"

"Yeah." He chuckled, "He draws quite the crowd."

"That system is really confusing; you know that, right?"

"No more confusing than the American government. Think of it more or less like that. The Pope would be the President; Cardinals, his cabinet; Bishops would be the Senate; and Priests would be the governors of each state. It's not an exact comparison, of course, but you get the idea, I'm sure."

"So you could potentially be the Pope?"

"Oh, I very highly doubt it, Hawkeye. I've never really done anything note-worthy for the Church.

"Well," I said, rolling over on top of him, "I bet if you keep your eyes open and your mouth shut, you'll get promoted in no time. Telling army generals where they can stick their medals probably isn't the best way to get recognized by the church."

He laughed and dragged me down, locking his lips with mine. I opened my mouth against his, eager to deepen the kiss. He tasted of Irish whiskey and Old Gold Regulars. His hand traveled down my back and over my ass and I nearly moaned into his mouth as I felt my dick getting hard, but a noise somewhere outside made me stop completely. I pulled away from him and froze, listening intently.

"Hawkeye?"

"Shh."

I slowly got off of Dago, quietly moving towards the tent flap and heard the unmistakable crunch of snow beneath a combat boot outside. Shit…I had no weapon and no way to know if it was friend or foe. Dago moved across the tent as quietly as he could and I watched his silhouette crouch down next to the corpse of the aid doctor.

"What are you doing?" I whispered harshly at him.

"He had a gun on him," Dago replied in a whisper. I heard him fussing around with the body then heard a series of mechanical clicks as Dago found the gun, checked the magazine, and loaded one into the chamber. He stood up and pressed the grip of the gun into my hand.

"You want _me_ to shoot them?"

"I _can't_ shoot them."

I sighed, but took the gun in my hand. Now was not the time to argue about supposed hell-worthy trespasses. Another crunch of ice. Whoever it was was moving slowly outside. I moved closer to the flap and peeked out. There was only one guy that I could see about 5 yards from the tent, but I couldn't tell if he was one of ours or one of theirs. All I could see was the rifle in his hand.

"That's far enough, friend." I said, loud enough for him to hear. The only answer came in the sound of a click as he released the safety on his rifle and aimed it in my direction. The fact that he hadn't fired yet meant one of two things—he was either on our side and I'd just taken him by surprise, or he couldn't see me. I was hoping for the former as I called out, "Identify yourself."

"C-Corporal Levi Goldberg. Service Number 51 314 7—"

"I don't need your number, Corporal," I interrupted stuffing the barrel of the gun in the back of my pants, relieved that he was on our side. "What are you doing out there alone?"

"Sir, my squad…the bombs…they're all dead, sir." The boy sounded close to hysteria.

"Well first of all, put your weapon down, solider, I don't want to be shot accidentally. Secondly, the name is Hawkeye. Third, get in here before you freeze to death."

"Thank you, sir." He clicked the safety back on his rifle and came towards the tent. "Don't you have any lights here?"

"We underwent some shelling of our own—lost a soldier and the aid doctor. Figured if they couldn't see us, they couldn't shoot at us."

"We?" The kid asked.

"God be with you, Corporal." Dago said from where he had been standing.

"Who are you guys?"

"Hawkeye Pierce, M.D. and general nuisance of the 4077th MASH unit up the road. This here is Dago Red—"

" _Father Mulcahy_ ," Dago corrected. "Chaplain of the 4077th."

"What are you guys doing here?"

"Honeymooning," I deadpanned.

" _Hawkeye_ ," Dago rebuked. "One of the soldiers brought us down here to assist the battalion aid doctor before the shelling took place. Now, we're kind of stranded."

"Oh…"Goldberg said.

"Are you alright, Corporal?" I asked. "Are you injured at all?"

"I took a bullet in the leg," he answered. "Managed to tie it off. You said you were a doc?"

"That's right. I'm afraid there's no open stretchers, but you can lie down on the cot over here and I'll take a look at it."

"Thanks Doc…"

Dago and I both helped the kid over to the cot and I pulled out my lighter and handed it to Dago. "See if you can find a flashlight or something for me, babe. I don't want to turn that light back on unless I have to."

As I settled the kid on the cot, Dago looked around the tent to try and find a flashlight. While Dago looked around, I talked to the kid finding out where he was from and what he'd been doing before the war. Turns out he was 19 years old from Jersey and had been working in his parents' deli when he decided to enlist. He'd been a fan of the Captain America comics, and had hoped being in the army would make him a superhero. A light clicked on off to the side and I saw Dago smile triumphantly at me as he held up a flashlight.

"Got it." He said as he came back over, squatting to the side of me and holding up the light over the tourniquet the kid had fashioned on his leg. I untied the makeshift bandage from his leg and saw the hole that went through the leg of his trousers and into his flesh.

"Roll on your side for me," I told the kid, helping to push him on his side to see if there was an exit wound, which there was. "Dago, find me a pair of scissors."

I took the light from him as I continued to assess the wound. There was a fair amount of blood, but not enough for me to consider that the femoral artery had been hit. When Dago came back with the scissors, I cut away the kid's trouser leg around the wound.

"You're a very lucky soldier, Corporal Goldberg. Half an inch to the right and you probably wouldn't be with us right now." I looked over at Dago, "Will you find me some gauze, a clean scalpel, a pair of forceps, and a suture kit?"

He gave me a skeptical look, but went off in search of the items I'd asked for.

"How's it look, Doc?"

"You'll be fine, Captain Rogers."

"Rogers?" Dago asked from across the room.

"Didn't you ever read Captain America, Dago?" I asked, getting up and finding a small medicine chest with vials of morphine and demerol. I picked up the demerol and a clean syringe, inserting the needle into the bottle and pulling back the plunger to draw the pain medication into the syringe, then pushing up on the plunger to expel the air.

"No, I can't say that I ever really had time for comic books."

"Captain America was the alter ego of Steve Rogers," Goldberg told Dago. "He was some scrawny little kid like me who wanted to be enlisted into the army, but they wouldn't take him. Then some scientist guy injected him with some superhuman serum and turned him into Captain America."

As Goldberg spoke, I gave him a couple of injections around the wound to numb it enough for me to debride it. Dago came back with a tray of everything I asked for and I smiled approvingly. "Add this to your resume too, babe: battalion aid assistant."

"By the end of this war my resume will be 50 pages long." He looked at the kid then, switching gears abruptly. "Is there anything I can do for you, Levi?"

"You don't happen to know any Jewish prayers, do you?"

"I'm an army chaplain, I know a lot of different prayers." Dago moved to the other side of me and laid his hand on the crown of Goldberg's head, then he started to speak in a language I could only assume was Hebrew. "Mi-sheberakh avoteinu v'imoteinu, Avraham v'Sarah, Yitzhak v'Rivkah, Ya'akov, Rachel v'Leah hu y'varekh et Levi v'yavi aleihem refuat hanefesh u'refuat haguf yachad im kol cholei amo Yisrael. Barukh atah Hashem, rofeh ha'cholim."

"Amen," Goldberg said, looking at Dago with strange admiration.

"Amen," Dago echoed, smiling softly.

As Dago had started to pray, I had started to clean the wound, looking for any debris or fragments that needed to be removed. "I hate to interrupt," I said as they'd finished, "But can you find something I can irrigate the wound with? A saline wash would be ideal, but I'll settle for whatever you can find."

I worked quickly, cleaning out the wound, then—satisfied that I'd gotten everything and cleaned it thoroughly—I sutured and bandaged. Dago had managed to find an extra pair of trousers with the aid doctor's gear, so I helped Goldberg out of his and into the new ones.

"I'm afraid we're all out of blankets, Capt'n." I told the kid.

"I've got one in my pack there by the door."

Dago fetched the pack, found the blanket and draped it over the boy as I went to check out our other wounded patient. His temperature seemed to be a little higher and pulse a little steadier.

"Get some rest, my son. Hawkeye and I will be here if you need us." I heard Dago murmur to the boy.

"Thanks, Father."

I clicked off the flashlight and headed outside, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it seconds before Dago joined me, hugging his arms around him for warmth. "This has been some night."

"When we get back tomorrow, I think we ought to call in a shrink for him," I murmured softly.

"Why? I know he said his whole squad is gone, but he seems fine to me, Hawkeye."

"Right now he does, but he's in shock, Dago. He was shot in the leg, saw his entire squad get blown up, walked God knows how far in this weather until he stumbled upon us…He was in survival mode. Once the adrenaline wears off and reality sinks in…"

"I see what you're saying." He sighed. "I wish there was more I could do."

"You didn't tell me you spoke Hebrew."

"I don't. I told you theology and religions are a personal interest of mine. Chaplain school teaches you to minister to all faiths, but I decided to take it a step further by teaching myself several different prayers in each of the major religions."

"And you can remember all that without looking it up?"

He shrugged slightly and took the cigarette from my hand to share it. "I have a photographic memory. I see something once and it gets ingrained in my mind."

"You really are a genius, you know that?"

He laughed softly. "No, I'm not a genius, just lucky."

"Is that why you can quote the Bible verbatim to me?"

"Well, that and I've read it enough times that I know it backwards and forwards."

We finished the cigarette and went back into the tent, finding a place on the floor to sit. Dago's teeth were chattering and I wrapped my arms around him, rubbing his upper arms for warmth.

"Have I mentioned lately that I hate winter in Korea?"

"I think, right now, I might have to second that feeling." He said softly, then stifled a yawn.

"You can lean on me and sleep if you want, Dago. I'll keep watch."

"Are you sure, Hawkeye? I can stay awake if you want me to."

"No, you sleep. I'll wake you up if I need to."

He nodded, then leaned his head on my shoulder with another yawn, curling as much of his body against my side as he could sitting up. I kept my arm around him and could feel him slowly drifting off to sleep.

If I listened close enough, I could distinguish between Dago, Goldberg, and the other kid's breathing patterns. That and the arctic wind blowing outside were the only noises that filled the otherwise silent night. I tried not to think about how cold it was, or how I wanted to be back at camp in front of a stove wrapped in a large warm blanket with a hot cup of coffee…instead I focused on what Dago had asked me about earlier: what would I do when I went home?

I'd read the latest medical journals every time they came out and my wife sent them to me, but getting mail from Maine to Korea could take months…and—believe it or not—a lot could happen in a couple of months in the medical world. I felt like I would almost need several refresher courses by the time I was home and ready to start working again.

Being in Korea was more than just an inconvenience in my life, it was a disadvantage. By the time I got home, 2 years would have passed and I would be so far out of touch with society, I was starting to doubt that I'd ever find a place to fit in again. I couldn't help but wonder if Mary had also moved beyond me. Two years without a husband is a very long time. Was it possible that she had fooled around on me the same way I had on her? If she did, how could I blame her? After being involved with Dago, would I still even be able to connect with Mary? Would she be able to connect with me?

My thoughts circled my head like vultures over dying prey, leaving me more unsure than ever about the direction of my life after the war. I rested my head against Dago's, nuzzling my nose against his soft hair and hugging him a little tighter to try and ground myself and my thoughts, but only bringing back to mind the fact that returning to life with Mary meant leaving this life with Dago behind. I closed my eyes in an attempt to shut out all thought completely and just listened to the sound of my three companions breathing and the wind howling outside.

"Jesus wept!" The sound of an unfamiliar voice startled me, and I realized suddenly that I had fallen asleep and it was now daylight outside. Dago, too, stirred at the sound of the voice and lifted his head, groaning a little and grabbing his stiff neck. I patted him on the knee comfortingly but got off the floor to find the source of the voice about the time that someone came into the tent. "What the hell happened here? Shit! Mac!"

The newest addition to our troop bent down next to the body of the aid doctor in shocked horror.

"We underwent shelling." I explained. "They hit the jeep out there, killing one solider, which sent shrapnel inside the tent, killing the doc."

"And who the hell are you?"

"Hawkeye Peirce, surgeon at the 4077th; that guy with the cross is my chaplain, Father Mulcahy; leg wound there is Corporal Goldberg, who lost his entire squad in the shelling, and the kid here barely hanging on by a thread…well, we haven't been introduced. And who are you, friend?"

"Dr. Bennett, call me Earl. I came up here to relieve Mac for the next 72 hours, but seeing as how he's dead…shit."

"Did you happen to come in a jeep?" Dago asked hopefully as he came to stand with us.

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, we've been AWOL from our unit since yesterday afternoon…and this boy needs more medical care than Dr. Peirce was able to provide here…"

"Right…I get you, Padre. Load up the jeep, I'll take you boys back to your MASH. God knows I've got some shit to deal with here."

Dago and I carefully loaded the boy on the stretcher, then helped Goldberg into the passenger seat of the jeep. With Dago and I both in the back holding onto the stretcher, Earl turned the jeep over and headed back towards home.

"Henry's going to flip when we get back," I warned Dago.

"I know," he said, flinching against the cold whip of the wind. "I don't care as long as we get there."

When we pulled into camp, I shouted for the corpsmen to come carry the boy into the pre-op ward and get him warmed up with some blood. I would want to go back over him later, but for now I wanted to get him stable. Another corpsman brought a wheelchair out for Goldberg and took him over to post-op. And, as expected, Henry was coming towards us, purple faced and livid.

"Thanks for the lift, Earl. You know where to find us if you need anything for your report, but I'd say book it before you get on the receiving end of Colonel Blake's wrath with Dago and me."

"See ya, Doc…" Earl said before putting the jeep in gear and heading out of camp.

"Henry, before you jump down our throats, let me explain—"

"C-Can it P-Pierce." Henry stuttered, furiously. "I've h-had it up to h-here with you thinking you own this c-camp! There are r-rules and r-r-regulations! You both r-realize that I could have you court marshaled!"

"Colonel," Dago said softly. "We never intended to be AWOL. There was a medical emergency that came up and Hawkeye and I made the decision to go without informing you because there simply wasn't time. The situation was more dangerous than we anticipated and we have been stranded at the battalion aid station until just this very morning. There were multiple fatalities and two casualties that we've brought back with us, sir."

"Fatalities?" Henry asked, his anger dissipating with Dago's calm explanation. How he managed to always calm people just with the sound of his voice never ceased to amaze me.

I quickly filled Henry in on what had happened, stealing the rest of his thunder and leaving him rubbing his forehead.

"Damn it, Pierce, I wish you hadn't told me all that…there's forms to fill out and reports and—"

"We'll take care of it, Henry," Dago cut in. "If you'll have Radar pull the necessary paperwork."

"The only problem is that we don't know anything about the deceased. I didn't check their dog tags and didn't get any names, but the kid that brought us back here was the aid doc's replacement and he said he would take care of that end of it."

"So long as someone does," Henry muttered. "Alright…I'll let you guys off the hook this time, but so help me, Pierce, if you so much as put one toe out of line—"

"Henry, Henry… I wouldn't dream of it." I allayed.

He thrust a finger into my chest, poking me with every syllable. "And stop dragging my chaplain into all your messes."

I eyed Dago, who was trying to hide his smirk behind his hand. I shook my head softly, "Yeah, alright, Henry."

Satisfied, Henry stormed off towards his office and I fixed my gaze back on Dago. "Something funny there, Losing Preacher?"

"Not at all," he said with a mild laugh. "However, if you would excuse me, I would like to go find my spare jacket and hat."

"What? You're still cold?" I teased. My own skin and extremities had long since gone numb and tingly so it was safe to assume his had as well. "I better get to pre-op and check on that boy, make sure they're giving him enough units of blood and see that he's thawing out. It's a wonder we didn't all freeze to death last night."

"Let me know if there's anything I can do, Hawkeye."

I smiled and ruffled his hair. "You've done more than enough, baby. Couldn't have made it through that without you. Go get warm and I'll come find you later."

He hesitated in front of me for a long moment and I knew he was thinking of kissing me right there in the middle of the compound. My dick throbbed in my pants as I ached to take him in my arms and satisfy his hunger. Dago was usually the cautious one, always aware of our surroundings, but the fact that he hesitated meant he'd nearly had a lapse in judgment. Christ, that thrilled me far more than it probably should…

My eyes swept the compound. No one was looking at us from what I could tell and the supply tent was just a few yards behind him. I shoved Dago backwards, catching him off guard and he nearly tripped over his own feet before he caught himself, looking at me with a confused expression, but realization quickly dawned as I advanced on him and shoved him back another step.

"Hawkeye!" he groused, almost tripping a second time. "Is that really necessary?"

"No," I smirked. "But it's fun."

He rolled his eyes, but moved quickly out of my range, clearly not wanting to be pushed again. When I had backed him into the supply tent, I looked around to make sure we were alone, but then found myself roughly pushed against the door frame as Dago fiercely claimed my lips. His intensity said everything we'd both been thinking and feeling since yesterday: it could have been one of us that had died.

Dago pulled away breathlessly, searching my eyes, "I love you, Hawkeye."

Never before had he said the words first, and I felt my throat growing tight. I swallowed as I pulled him too me. "I love you, too, Dago."

He pulled back after a long minute, but I cupped his face and kissed his forehead, then his lips one last time before releasing him. We both took a deep breath at the same time, then laughed softly. I ran my fingers through his hair, grinning at him and pushing him towards the door.

"Go on; go park yourself in front of a stove for a while."

I slapped Dago on the backside and he tossed a glare over his shoulder at me as he walked out of the supply tent. I took a moment to collect myself and let my dick wilt a little before I headed for my original destination in pre-op.

Trapper and Duke were both hovering over my patient and looked up as I walked in.

"Man, what in the hell happened to you last night?" Duke asked.

"It's a long story," I said stealing the stethoscope from around his neck. "The short and skinny of which is that I'd rather be in this hell than manning an aid station."

"Is it true you and Red killed some gooks?"

"Killed some… _what_? Who the hell started that rumor?" I asked, not surprised that rumors were already flying.

"I dunno, it's just what we heard a few minutes ago."

"No, we didn't kill anybody," I answered as I sat next to the kid and listened to his heart and lungs, slightly cheesed off. "We got caught in some shelling that killed a soldier and the aid doctor. We spent the night without our coats so this kid wouldn't freeze to death on us, another kid wandered up to the station and I had to patch him up with minimal supplies, and finally, the aid doc's replacement drove in and found us and brought us all back here. Otherwise, we'd still be stuck out there trying to figure out what to do and how to get back."

"Could have been worse," Trapper commented.

I looked over my shoulder at him. "Yeah, I could have been stuck with you two rather than Dago."

"Well, anyways, we're glad you're alright, Hawk." Duke said, actually sincere.

"Thanks… I think once we finish getting the blood in, we can take him to post-op to keep an eye on him. If I have to go back in I will, but he seems okay right now."

"Duke's on duty right now," Trapper said. "But I could go for a martini, how about you, Hawkeye?"

"I can't believe I'm about to say this, but I think all I want is something to eat, a hot cup of coffee and a cigarette, and then a few hours of sleep in a nice, warm cot."

Trapper accompanied me to the mess tent, where I found a bowl of piping hot oatmeal with my name written all over it. I sat with him at our usual table, shoveling a bite of tasteless mush into my mouth and letting it linger on my tongue until I couldn't stand it anymore, then swallowed, feeling it burn all the way down my esophagus. It hurt, but it was warming me up from the inside out.

"Christ, I think I just burned the roof of my mouth just watching you do that," Trapper commented as he dug into a plate of eggs and sausage.

I could hear murmurs from a nearby table and looked over to see several enlisted men huddled together, looking in my direction. I wondered what rumor they had heard, and was idly contemplating letting the rumor mill get out of hand just to see what kind of crazy scenario they would concoct. I could only imagine Dago's reaction when someone asked him how it felt to kill an enemy solider. I laughed at the thought.

"You're not starting to crack up, are you, Hawkeye?" Trapper asked hesitantly, leaning slightly away as if crazy was contagious.

"Starting to? Baby, I cracked up a long time ago," I mused. "No, I was just trying to imagine what kinds of rumors are going around right now. Maybe I can play this to my advantage…beg Henry for a few 3 days passes to Tokyo; tell him the stress of being in combat was just too much."

"Yeah right," Trapper snorted into his coffee. "If he buys it, get me a pass, too. Tell him I was distraught over the thought of you in combat. We can hit some holes together and find some geisha girls to entertain ourselves with."

"What about Dago? He deserves a pass, since he was there in the action with me."

"Okay, a pass for him, but no girls. Henry would kill us."

We laughed at the thought of Dago in the middle of a tryst with several geishas. I wondered if he would ever be that drunk to let himself get mixed up in a situation like that, but I'd learned not to put anything passed him…not that I was going to say as much to Trapper.

I finished breakfast and my coffee, had my smoke, then headed back to the Swamp. I idly wondered what Dago was up to, but knew that he was probably passed out under a pile of blankets, just as I intended to be. If I thought I could get away with going to his tent to sleep with him, I would have, but Trapper had assigned himself as my unofficial man-servant and I wasn't sure I could shake him.

I kicked off my boots, found a pair of wooly socks in my locker, shoved them on my and stripped down to my boxers, hurriedly getting into my sleeping bag and zipping it all the way up. "Say, Trap, be a good fellow and throw 10 or 20 blankets on me."

"You're going to roast yourself," he warned as he threw my blanket over me and added a few more on top.

"That is my intent, yes."

"Anything else?"

"Yes, tell them to keep the war down for me," I closed my eyes and yawned.

"Don't worry about wounded if we get any," Trap said. "If we need ya, we'll send for ya."

"Oh, Trap…that kid in post-op—Goldberg—put in a call to Sidney Freedman, will ya? I imagine he's gonna have a lot on his mind."

"Sure thing, Hawk. Nighty night, sweet prince."

I cracked an eye open at the sarcastic retort, "What? No kiss, Mother?"

"Not on your life." Trapper said before walking out.

When I woke up about 4 hours later, I was tempted to roll back over and go back to sleep, but Trapper had been right…I was sweating to death under all the blankets. I unzipped the sleeping bag and tossed the pile of blankets off of me before worming out of the bag itself. It was too nippy to sit around in just my shorts, so I found a pair of clean trousers and a sweater my wife had sent me and pulled them both on before shoving my feet into my boots. I found my jacket, which had been lent to the kid the night before and obviously returned to me, stuffed my arm arms into the sleeves, picked up my lighter and cigarettes, and headed outside to see what was new.

Not surprisingly, my feet took me straight to Dago's tent. I knocked but didn't hear any sign of life inside, so I poked my head in the door, finding his tent empty but his bed unmade. It wasn't like Dago to not make his bed unless there hadn't been time, and the only thing that would have been that dire to him was an emergency in the OR or post-op that required his services. I turned and headed for post-op.

Dago, Duke, Trapper, and Henry were all there, gathered around the army's top shrink from Seoul—Sidney Freedman. They were standing at the foot of Goldberg's cot, who was currently asleep but restrained…

"What the hell did I miss?" I asked, walking up on their conference.

"Damn kid tried to slit his wrists just before Sidney got here," Trapper said.

"Don't know where he managed to get a scalpel from—he didn't get out of his bed." Duke added.

"Didn't anyone think to come and get me?" I asked hotly, looking at each of them in turn.

"What for? We could handle it just fine, Hawkeye," said Duke.

"Yeah, well what'd you need Dago for then?"

"I asked for him," Henry barked. "Sidney wasn't here yet and Dago's the closest thing we have to a counselor. He managed to calm the boy down so we could sedate him while we waited on Sidney; who, by the way, just got here. Any other questions, Pierce?"

It wasn't very often that Henry could make me feel lower than the scum on a pond, but this was certainly one of those times. However, rather than apologize and admit my fault, I simply turned and left post-op, heading for Dago's tent, knowing he wouldn't be far behind me. I had just collapsed into his cot when I heard the door open, then softly close.

"For the record," he said quietly, coming to sit beside me on his cot and placing his hand lightly on my chest. "I strongly suggested they wake you, but I was overruled."

"It's okay. Thanks for trying. I just don't like being the last to know about a situation involving one of my patients." I placed my hand over his, squeezing gently. "How's the kid?"

"Sidney thinks he'll be okay. He said he's seen this kind of thing a lot over the last few years. Apparently, he and another psychoanalyst have been doing a study—mostly on survivors from the Nazi concentration camps, but they're starting to include soldiers like Levi who are the sole survivors of a combat-related encounter. He said they haven't really come up with a name for it yet, but they've been loosely calling this kind of thing 'survivor's guilt(1).' Aptly named because the survivor feels guilty that he lived while the others didn't. Sidney said symptoms manifest in a variety of forms, suicidal attempts only being one of them." He paused and took a deep breath. "You were right when you said we should call a psychiatrist, Hawkeye."

"Yeah, I don't need to study head bumps(2) to know that kid was going to crack up."

"I don't know," he smirked. "I think maybe you're in the wrong field."

I laughed softly, but something still sat funny with me about the situation. Dago seemed to sense my uneasiness.

"What's the matter, Hawk?"

"I dunno… Something's just bothering me about that kid." I thought for a minute, clicking my tongue against my teeth. "They said he used a scalpel?"

"Yeah, but we don't know where he got it from."

"Did anybody check him when we brought him in?"

Dago shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"I have a feeling he swiped the scalpel I used on him last night. I thought I got all the instruments I used, though."

"We both fell asleep, Hawkeye, he had ample opportunity to find one and stash it while we were out."

"Yeah…maybe…" the idea still didn't sit right with me. "It doesn't make sense, though. That he would go through all that trouble after being shot, to get patched up, then try and kill himself here?"

"Well, I don't think either of us are going to be able to figure out what kind of mindset he's in. Sidney's here and he said he can stay at least a few days, but he and I both agree that the kid should be sent home."

"So we're going to Section 8 him?"

"There's not really another option. We can't falsify his record, especially if he might harm himself, or someone else, again."

I didn't say anything, but I knew Dago was right, even though it still felt wrong. "He's just a fucking kid, Dago…"

"I know, Hawkeye, but war isn't a comic book." He sighed softly. "I don't like that he's going to get a dishonorable discharge after all he's been through any more than you do, but this wasn't a spur-of-the-moment act of depression…it was intentional."

"Yeah, but maybe it was an act of desperation. He knew if he healed up, they'd send him to a new unit…maybe he knew he had to do this to get himself sent home."

Dago considered that seriously for a long moment but shook his head sadly, "Even if that is the case, it's going to be Sidney's call."

"Sidney's a good guy, for a shrink. I trust his calls."

"But not mine?" Dago sounded seriously offended.

"I didn't mean it like that, baby. I just meant that maybe when Sidney gets a chance to talk to him, he'll realize he's a good kid, that's all."

"They're all good kids, Hawkeye." He said, angry now as he took his hand from mine. "Have you ever taken the time to talk with any of the other boys that come through here in Levi's condition?"

"Well—"

"No, you haven't" He interrupted. "You write them off as a nutcase and leave it for me to recommend the next step because as far as you're concerned they're all patched up and that's where your services end."

"Hey!" I shouted over his raised voice, sitting up to meet him eye to eye. "You don't have a damn clue what we go through with those kids, Dago. I can't get emotionally attached to any of them because when I do, shit like this happens and I disagree with the army's standards of how to 'treat' people. If it were up to me, I'd discharge them all! Don't tell me I write them off, you son of a bitch!"

The words left my mouth before I realized I was speaking them and Dago flinched as if I'd physically hit him, staring at me with a mixture of anger, hurt and disbelief. He turned his gaze away from mine and I reached out for him but he fought my hand away.

"Dago…I'm sorry."

"Leave me alone, Hawkeye." He said dejectedly.

"Baby, please… you know I didn't mean that. I'm sorry."

"Please, Hawkeye, just go away."

I didn't leave. Instead I wrapped my arms around him and forced him to lean back against my chest. He resisted just long enough to realize I wasn't letting go. "I'm not leaving until you accept my apology."

"I accept your apology," he said flatly.

"Dago, come on," I sighed, starting to get annoyed. "Haven't you ever said something you didn't mean?"

"I was taught to think before I speak."

"Well, if I had been taught that, I would probably say a lot fewer things." He didn't laugh, but I felt him take a deep breath and relax a little. "I'm sorry, John, I really am."

"I know," his voice was barely a whisper and I kissed just below his ear.

"You know I think what you do is incredible, Dago…all the tasks we can't do…" I kissed along his neck. "You're right; I don't take enough time to get to know my patients, and I should. It's just hard, you know?"

"It's very hard," Dago said emphatically. "But it's what we have to do."

"I hate the army."

"I know you do, Hawk." Dago turned in my arms and looked into my eyes. "In times like these, so do I."

I brushed the end of his nose with mine, hugging him a little tighter. "Forgive me?"

He gave an exaggerated sigh but smiled softly, "I guess."

I kissed his lips for a long moment before we pulled back and he poked me in the chest, just as Henry had done earlier.

"Just know that if you ever call me a son of a bitch again, I'll punch your lights out."

I laughed at the semi-idle threat and kissed him again, "Yes, _Father_."

TBC

1\. Survivor's Guilt was a term coined in 1960 by William Niederland, a German-American psychoanalyst who studied holocaust survivors and originated the "Survivor's Syndrome" theory. He also later contributed to what became recognized as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) in the 1980s.

2\. Phrenology was developed by German physician Franz Joseph Gall in 1796, and is the science which studies the relationships between a person's character and the morphology of the skull.

Translation of Jewish healing prayer:

"May the One who was a source of blessing for our ancestors, bring blessings of healing upon Levi, a healing of body and a healing of spirit. May those in whose care they are entrusted be gifted with wisdom and skill, and those who surround them be gifted with love and trust, openness and support in their care. And may they be healed along with all those who are in need. Blessed are You, Source of healing." From JewishHealing dot com.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulcahy's POV.

The nightmares from that incident in the aid station started that first night we were back in the camp and plagued me for several days. Mostly it was just a replay of the shelling, but then it progressed to vivid imagery of the boy in the jeep when the mortar fell on him, or the aid doctor when he was hit by shrapnel. Most of the time I would wake up before the dreams got too gruesome, but it would still be the middle of the night and I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep.

I'm typically pretty good about hiding my sleeplessness from others; it's not hard for me to always be ready with a smile or a kind word, as those are the armaments I carry every day, but I knew by the 4th day I was starting to look as worn-out as I felt. Hawkeye, naturally, was the first to pick up on it.

"You look tired today, Dago," he commented casually over breakfast, but I could hear the note of concern in his voice.

"Hmm?" I hadn't been paying attention to the conversation around me, so the mention of my name broke me out of my thought-deprived stupor, but his words circled back around quickly. "Oh, I'm okay. I just haven't been sleeping too well the last few nights."

"Why not?" Duke asked, blowing on his coffee.

I didn't really want to go into it, but several pairs of eyes were looking at me curiously. "Just…bad dreams."

"We could give you something that'll knock you out," Trapper recommended. "If you do dream, you won't even know it."

"Thanks, but I'll be alright."

"You know, Father, I'm still here for another day if you want to talk," Sidney Freedman offered.

"Thank you, Sidney; I'll think about it."

"What are the dreams about?" Duke asked like a needling child.

"I'd rather not talk about it right now," I answered.

Hawkeye was the only one who hadn't said anything, but his hand had fallen to my knee under the table and he was gently squeezing it in understanding. I wandered if he ever had nightmares, but I seriously doubted it. Hawkeye seemed like the kind of person who could walk through fire and not get burned. While I knew the experience had shaken him, he didn't look as though he was losing sleep like I had been.

After breakfast, Duke, Trapper, Painless and Bandini all took Sidney over to Painless' tent to continue their never-ending poker game, but Hawkeye was due in post-op for duty, so I walked with him, needing to visit with the patients myself.

"Is there anything I can do about the nightmares?" He asked softly as we leisurely crossed the compound.

"No," I answered with a sigh. "They'll pass; it'll just take time."

"You know you can come wake me up if you need to, baby. I'll come and stay with you for a while."

"I appreciate it, Hawkeye; but I'll be fine, really. They're not really terrifying so much as they are gruesome. Horribly graphic."

He put an arm across my shoulder in a manner that would appear as nothing more than friendly to any onlookers. "If they get too bad…"

"I'll let you know, I promise."

He squeezed the back of my neck lovingly, then let go as we reached post-op and he wandered off to check the log left by the last doctor on duty. Most of the patients were awake, so I made my way around post-op greeting them with my usual smile as I inquired about how they were doing and generally making small talk. If anyone noticed the smile didn't quite reach my eyes that morning, no one said anything.

After my rounds had been made, I went back to my tent and hung my confessional sign to signify that I was available to the camp personnel. Two people stopped by nearly back to back—one of the enlisted men, and one of the nurses—but then a couple of hours passed without interruption, in which I read my Bible.

The next knock at my door was Sidney Freedman, who smiled kindly as he came into my tent.

"I hope I'm not interrupting, Father."

"Not at all, Sidney. Please, have a seat." I indicated the open chair and he sat, crossing his long, spindly legs. "What can I do for you?"

"Actually, John, I came to see what I could do for you." He was looking at me with large brown eyes that had a way of making you feel like an old friend rather than someone he was trying to counsel.

"Oh, really Sidney, don't trouble yourself. I'll be fine."

"I heard about the little adventure you and Hawkeye had at the aid station, it must have been frightening."

Even though I knew what he was doing, the tactic still succeeded in getting me to talk. "I keep trying to tell myself I've been through worse, and I've seen worse, but—yes—it was pretty terrifying."

"Worse?"

I found myself telling Sidney about Tibet and my imprisonment, the horrors I'd witnessed to others and the torture I, myself, had endured. He listened with genuine intrigue without interrupting, simply allowing me to share my experience with him. Though I'd told the story to Hawkeye not too long ago, sharing it with Sidney was somehow different. Maybe it was the distinction that Sidney was a psychiatrist, and Hawkeye was just a lover and a friend. Sidney's opinion and comments would be based on his professional experience, whereas Hawkeye's reaction had been based solely on his personal feelings for me.

"You were imprisoned in Tibet for 2 months. How did you survive that, John?"

"By the grace of God." I shook my head softly as I remembered sitting in the filthy cesspool of rainwater that had flooded the cell. "There were times where I had felt almost catatonic, beyond even the fear of losing my mind. I don't know if I would ever lose consciousness or not, but I remember I'd be sitting in that cell one minute, and the next I would be restrained somewhere while they tried to torture me. It was in those moments of clarity, when fear and pain kicked back in that I would start screaming again. I seemed to cycle between those two extreme states of being—completely unaware and completely aware."

"After your release, what happened?"

"I was a wreck," I admitted. "I felt almost like a feral animal, not quite human. I didn't want to be around anyone, I didn't want to do anything, when I slept I relived the experience in my dreams. I would be screaming in my sleep and my brother—whom I was staying with at the time—would come in to try and wake me up and calm me down, but I would think he was one of the guards and I would try to fight him."

"That sounds very terrifying. How were you able to overcome all of that?"

"Mostly I relied on my faith to get me through, even though I was so angry at God for what I'd been through. I really had to pick apart the experience and try to find some meaning to it. I think it helped that I'm a fairly deep thinker anyways. I didn't get over it overnight, of course, but in time I came to an epiphany of sorts. I thought about Jesus and the crucifixion. I knew that if He could endure what He did, to die and be raised from the dead as a sacrifice for my sins, then I could learn to cope with my experience in Tibet. Rather than think of it as a burden in my life, I tried to think of it as a blessing. It helped me understand the kinds of suffering that people endure all over the world, and that fortified my compassion for all people, regardless of their faith. I used that to strengthen my beliefs rather than weaken them."

"How were you able to do that?"

I considered the question thoughtfully for a long moment, but I really didn't know how I had done it. "It was just a process I went through that took time."

"Did those nightmares eventually stop?"

"For the most part, yes. Every so often they'll resurface, but they don't send me into a panic like they used to."

"I understand you were recently wounded by a North Korean soldier who came through the camp."

"Yeah, apparently he'd stashed a knife on him and pulled it on one of our nurses. I happened to see it and pushed her out of the way, but in the struggle, he managed to stab me right in the side. It really didn't seem that serious when it happened, and I told Hawkeye to worry about the other wounded first, but he insisted on seeing to me. I ended up in surgery with a hole in my intestines. The fact that I had to be put under for surgery kind of woke me up to the seriousness of it. I was worried that I would probably have nightmares about that, but I didn't."

"No?"

"No, which is surprising. Typically violent situations—not that I've been through that many—stick with me in my dreams for about a week or two."

"What makes the dreams stop?"

"I really don't know, Sidney."

"How have you been coping with these recent nightmares, John?"

"Whenever I wake up, I usually just try and focus my thoughts on something else—prayer, meditation, reading. It's not 100% successful, but it helps. I just can't go back to sleep after that, which is why I'm tired. I've been getting about 4, maybe 5, hours of sleep each night."

"What happens when you try to go back to sleep?"

"I just keep seeing it in my mind. I didn't actually see the boy in the jeep get killed, and I didn't actually see the aid doctor die either, but we were all just right there together. I saw the aftermath of it…which, trust me, was enough."

"I don't doubt that." Sidney paused, looking at me with his steady gaze. "When you meditate, what do you think about?"

"I try not to think of anything. The Buddhist monks in Tibet taught me how to truly meditate—to empty my mind completely and simply focus on my breath and the flow of energy through my body."

"So, when you were coping with the nightmares from your imprisonment, you tried to find meaning in the experience. Have you tried to do the same for this recent experience?"

"No…" I admitted. I hadn't considered that there was a meaning to what happened at the aid station. It had just seemed like senseless death to me.

"If you will, I'd like you to think of your experiences as a river and you're standing in the middle of that river. You can feel the water current pushing against you, and even though you know you can't control which way the water is flowing, you're trying with all your might to force it in the opposite direction." He paused, letting me visualize the image. "How long do you think you'd be able to stand there in the current, trying to force it the other way?"

"Probably not very long."

"Exactly. You'd exhaust yourself and probably end up drowning… There are things that we would all like to change in our lives, but we have to accept the bad things in life as much as we do the good things. When we do, we're not so much acting as a dam in the river, but more as an object that will divert the river into a new channel. Just as you diverted the river of your imprisonment into strength and compassion, you can divert the river of the aid station into something similar."

I took a deep breath as I considered Sidney's words.

"Tell me what you're thinking right now, John."

"I'm just trying to think of how to accept what happened. The death there was just so…unnecessary."

"You know, August Strindberg once said 'Death doesn't bargain.' I've always felt that statement fit the conditions of war; what do you think?"

The statement had a profound impact on me. It simply made perfect sense in the situation. War was a part of human nature, death was a natural consequence of that. Yes, the way those two men died seemed unreasonable to me, but I could no more stop it from happening than I could change the flow of Sidney's imaginary river. I couldn't bargain with the circumstances of their death.

"You remember what I said the other day about survivor's guilt?"

I nodded.

"Constantly reliving the situation is another manifestation of the symptoms, as is thinking of alternate possibilities. I like to call them the 'what if's' and 'if only's' How many times have you thought that it could have happened to you and Hawkeye?"

"Countless. We both have."

"That's a nature progression of the thought process for people who survive a traumatic experience in which others have perished. We sometimes try to reason it away, or we say we just got lucky, but you're a man of faith, John…what does your faith tell you about your survival of that encounter?"

"That it wasn't my time," I answered almost automatically. "That my purpose on Earth has not been fulfilled. There's still work to be done."

"Can the same be said about two men who didn't make it? That maybe their time had come? They had fulfilled their purpose, so God called them home?"

"You're very good, Sidney." I told him, laughing softly as I shook my head in amazement that he had helped me see the light, so to speak.

He smiled, "I didn't do anything, John. All I did was ask questions."

We sat in silence for a long minute and I felt a strong urge to tell him about Hawkeye. While I didn't think it was anyone else's business, it always helped to have a sounding board for my thoughts. Hawkeye was great to talk to, especially since he was involved in the whole thing, but his opinion was biased and he never seemed to accept the fact that I struggled spiritually with it. His stance was to forget about the Word of God, to thumb my nose at it, and just do as I pleased. I'd found middle ground in not thinking about it all together, but part of me still needed to talk about it with someone else. Someone without a bias, and who could respect my spiritual beliefs, and hopefully not rat me out to the army or the Church.

"There's something else on your mind," Sidney interrupted my thoughts. "I know that look."

I felt somewhat sick to my stomach as I tried to consider how to approach to topic, and whether or not I even should. "Sidney, can I ask you a personal question?"

"Shoot."

"You're Jewish, yes?"

"I am."

"I'm having a bit of a…crisis in regards to another area of my life. I know you're not a spiritual counselor, but would it be alright if I talk to you about it?"

"Sure, John. I have to warn you I don't know anything about Catholicism, but I'd be glad to listen and try to help."

"I don't want to get into specifics, mainly because it's a situation I shouldn't be involved in on any level, but…well…how do I put this…." I chewed on my thumbnail for a minute as I tried to find the words. Finally, I just decided to be as direct as possible. "I've become sexually involved with someone in this camp."

He seemed wholly surprised, and rightfully so.

"I'm not sure if you know or not, but priests are required to take vows of celibacy. Obviously, I've broken that vow, which if the Church found out would mean a world of trouble. However, this isn't the first time I have broken that vow. There was someone in my past I was involved with as well. What bothers me now is that…gee, I didn't think it would be this hard to talk about."

"It's okay, take your time." Sidney said gently.

"Well…I truly love this person, but…" I sighed and dropped my face into my hands.

"They're married?" He ventured.

I nodded, completely ashamed. "It's bad enough that I've broken my vows as a priest, but I'm also breaking several Commandments, and so many other sacred laws…"

Sidney was quiet for a long moment and I couldn't look up at him, afraid to see the look on his face. Finally he spoke, very quietly. "John, can I ask you a personal question? And, don't worry, this is all off the record."

My stomach was churning and I was regretting having eggs for breakfast as I looked up at him, waiting for the question.

"This person you love…I'm guessing it is a man?"

I looked away, my face burning in shame. "Yes…" I whispered.

"It's okay, John. There is no judgment in here. I understand how you must be feeling right now—confused, conflicted…"

"Embarrassed, ashamed…" I added.

"I can't speak for God, or your Church, John, but I can speak from my personal and professional experience. No one ever asks to find themselves in situations like these, it just happens. I've never told anyone this before, but my sister is involved in a relationship with another woman."

I wasn't sure if I was relieved by that revelation or not, but it did help to know that he had personal experience with this matter. "Does loving another man make me a homosexual, Sidney?"

"You know, a good friend of mine has done a lot of research on sexuality(1), he published a book a few years ago about a study he did to find out what kind of sexual encounters men have had, and what he found was that there was wasn't just exclusively heterosexual men or exclusively homosexual men, there were varying degrees of both."

I looked at him, surprised by that information, and I found him looking at me like he was reading a book.

"I'm going to go out a limb here, John, and guess that this mystery person we're talking about is Hawkeye Pierce?"

I felt like a fish out of water, my mouth opening and closing in shock as I tried to speak without any words.

He laughed softly, "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."

"How did you know?"

"When I was playing poker earlier, I was trying to get a feel for what had been happening around here recently before I came and talked to you. Your name and Hawkeye's were almost always mentioned together. It struck me as odd, seeing as how the last time I was here the two of you weren't even friends. The other day when he left post-op, you went after him, and this morning at breakfast he seemed unusually concerned about you. I didn't piece it together until just now, though."

"Do you think anyone else knows?"

"Not very likely, but I hope that you and Hawkeye are being discreet in whatever it is that you're doing. If you are reported, it will get you both discharged from the army."

"I know," I sighed. "And I'd be excommunicated."

"Have you and Hawkeye talked about your feelings for each other?"

"Ad naseum, yes. Neither of us have any idea about what to do. He feels as strongly for me as I do for him, but we both know he can't leave his wife and children; and he doesn't want to—nor do I want him to—but…we still both want to be together somehow. It's very confusing, Sidney."

"Understandably so. Only the two of you can find the right answer, John. There are serious factors to consider—like Hawkeye's wife and children, and your spiritual beliefs—but those are both personal issues that each of you must deal with on your own. You know, even I have personal issues that seem to go against the grain of my religious upbringing, so I know how you feel when it comes to a situation you've been taught is wrong or immoral. I don't know about the Catholics, but Jews don't believe there is any heresy in questioning traditions and the writings of the sages. Well, a large percentage of Jews anyways. There are even some, myself included, who believe that religious truths are not absolute."

"I believe that God's word is absolute, but I also believe that I will be forgiven. The Bible teaches us that we will endure trials that will test our faith. This has certainly tested my faith, and while I may have failed in the area of temptation, I have not lost sight of God."

"Do you think it's your personal feelings or your religious beliefs that make you feel shame over your relationship?"

"I'm not sure there's a distinction between the two."

"Of course there is. Tell me how _John_ Mulcahy feels about this relationship with Hawkeye Pierce, not how _Father_ Mulcahy feels."

I sighed as I tried to seriously consider his question.

He laughed softly, "You're over-analyzing this, John; let me phrase it another way: tell me the positive feelings you associate with this relationship."

That I could do. "Happiness, friendship, love, trust, desire, excitement…"

"See how much easier that was," he said with a wink. "Now tell the negative feelings you associate with it. You've already said embarrassment and shame, what else?"

"Doubt…frustration…despair…anxiety…fear…helplessness."

"It took you longer to identify the negative feelings…why do you think that is?"

"I really don't know. I guess because the negatives just feel just like one oppressive cloud and the positives are more euphoric."

"Do you hear the differences in the way you describe the good and bad feelings, John? 'Oppressive cloud' versus 'Euphoric.' Shame and guilt are sister emotions that come from a very primitive way of thinking. Everyone struggles with these, so you're certainly not alone, but we tend to feel guilt for what we do and shame for what we are. For instance, when we lie to our mother about taking the cookie from the cookie jar, we feel guilty because we've lied. We feel shame because we're not the honest person our mother wants us to be. For a man in your position—a priest—you feel guilty for engaging in sexuality activities you've been told are wrong and have taken vows for, but you feel ashamed because of the ideas you have of who God expects you to be."

"So how do I get passed the negative feelings?"

"Sounds to me like you already answered that a few minutes ago."

I looked at him curiously.

"Because you believe you'll be forgiven." He said.

I felt like all the pieces of the puzzle suddenly locked into place and the picture became crystal clear to me. Guilt and shame were my own crosses to bear, but I felt them because I was deceiving others by engaging in this relationship, and because I knew I wasn't living up to God's expectation for me. I knew I couldn't hide my sins from God, and that's what really mattered to me. The Church was just the middle man in the equation; my earthly keeper, as it were. While I did owe them a certain degree of loyalty, and it was my duty never to lead any of His flock astray, ultimately I felt that they had no business knowing of my bedroom affairs. I answered to God, and God alone. The Pope could excommunicate me, fire me, make an example of me, but he could not judge me.

I realized then that I knew what I wanted from this relationship and I felt another emotion slowly creeping in…. Hope. I released a heavy sigh, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Sidney seemed to notice and he laughed softly.

"Boy, that look like it felt good."

I laughed as well. "It did. Thank you, Sidney…really. I can't begin to tell you how much clarity you've given me."

"You're the one that did all the work. I just asked the questions." He reiterated.

"Yeah, but you asked the _right_ questions. Even I know that's half the battle."

He laughed. "Touché. What else I can I help you with?"

"I think you've exhausted my mental faculties for the day."

"Well, I guess I'll stop monopolizing your time and go check on Corporal Goldberg." We both stood and he walked towards the door before turning back towards me. "Don't worry, John. Even though everything was off the record in here, I'll still keep what we've said confidential. I consider you and Hawkeye both to be good friends of mine, and it doesn't matter to me what you guys do on your own time together."

"Thanks, Sidney."

He gave me a smile and nod, and pushed the door open, whistling a tune as he walked away. I felt completely rejuvenated by my talk with Sidney, and glad that I had opened up to him.

As I went to lunch, I sat with Trapper, Duke, Sidney and Painless—Hawkeye was still on duty for another 3 hours—and idly listened to their chatter about the poker game and how Duke had tried to write the words of the Stars and Stripes with his urine in the snow in front of the flagpole, and Sidney's professional opinion of just what was wrong with Duke. My thoughts, though, were mostly stuck on a verse from Hebrews: Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. While I didn't think Sidney was an angel, I did feel that his presence here was a Godsend. I felt the inspiration for my next sermon in those thoughts and I quickly excused myself from the others to go and jot it down before the idea left me.

I was busy looking up scripture when the door to my tent swung up and Hawkeye dramatically entered with his hands over his heart, crooning absurdly, "I'm wild again, beguiled again; a simpering, whimpering child again. Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered—am I."

I tried not to let my amusement show as he came and laid himself across my desk, covering my notes and Bible with is body, and pushing his glasses up on his head to bat his eyelashes at me.

"Pardon me, Ms. Fitzgerald, but you're laying on Sunday's sermon." I mused.

He grinned but leaned forward and kissed me before pushing himself back up. "How ya doin', babe?"

"Better," I smiled. "I had quite the talk with Sidney earlier."

"Oh? Did you tell him about…you know…us?" He asked, somewhat nervously.

"Well…he, kind of…guessed."

"Guessed?" Hawkeye asked in surprise, his eyebrows nearly meeting his hairline.

"Don't ask me how, but he said he doubts anyone else suspects anything, and he said it makes no difference to him, really."

"You don't think he's going to go to Henry, do you?"

"No. He said it wouldn't go any further than him, but that we should be careful so they don't discharge us, which we already knew."

He pushed himself up so that he was sitting on the edge of my desk, looking down at me. "So what'd he say? What'd you guys talk about?"

"Mainly about how I feel and the spiritual side of it. I felt really clear-minded after we finished talking. It was like everything just clicked into place." I paused and thought for a second. "I think maybe for the first time in a very long time, I started to see the man first and the priest second."

He smiled softly. "That's good, yeah?"

"Very good," I laughed. "Look, I'm just about done with this, how about we meet up for dinner and later tonight I can tell you more about my conversation with Sidney. It might do you some good to talk to him, too, you know?"

"Oh no, I'm not letting him shrink my head. You've done enough voodoo on me, Dago Red Mulcahy." He was teasing and I smiled, shaking my head and shooing him off my desk.

"Well, then go find something else to entertain yourself with and let me finish my sermon."

"Trying to get rid of me already, huh?"

"Absolutely." I looked up at him as he leaned over and kissed me gently, brushing his nose against mine.

"See ya, babe."

I watched him leave, then returned to my work, eager to finish so that I could spend some time with him later.

Dinner was another loud affair, as the guys pestered Sidney about his profession and the weirdest things he'd seen. After that, we all went for a few rounds of poker and beer. Typically, when Hawkeye and I wanted to get away from whatever was going on, we'd make eye contact and give a little nod. I usually slipped out first, as most people bought that I had a drinking and gambling limit, but tonight it was Hawkeye who made an excuse and left first. I caught Sidney looking at me as Hawkeye left, smiling knowingly and I blushed, quickly looking back at the cards in my hand. I played two quick rounds with the boys, then made my own excuse to leave, claiming they had wiped me out.

When I made it back to my tent, I found Hawkeye laying on the palette on the floor, completely naked, but covered with my blanket. I latched the hook on the door and shed my coat, dog tags, cross, and boots before dropping to my knees at his feet and crawling over him on all fours.

"This is a nice thing to come 'home' to." I smirked.

He leaned up and captured my lips, his fingers sliding up to release the buttons of my shirt before he untucked the tails and pushed it back off my shoulders. He broke away from my lips to pull the turtleneck over my head, then pressed a kiss to my shoulder before sinking his teeth into the skin with increasing pressure. I hissed in pleasure, dragging my short nails down his back and making him groan. He found my belt and unbuckled it, still biting into my shoulder. I bit my lip to keep myself from moaning loudly, painfully aroused by what he was doing to me.

"Hawkeye…" I cried softly, as he reached the point where it became too much. He gently released and ran the tip of his tongue over the marks of his teeth as his hands continued to disrobe me. I helped him push my trousers and boxers down, then let him pull me back on top of him.

"You're quiet tonight," I noted gently between his tender kisses. He hadn't just been quiet since I'd arrived at my tent, he'd been unusually quiet at dinner and the poker game, letting everyone else do the talking. He seemed…unusually unusual. I pulled back a little, looking at him curiously. "You talked to Sidney, didn't you?"

He smiled up at me with slight amusement and complete adoration. I blushed furiously under his gaze. "He came highly recommended by someone I know."

I was curious about what they had talked about but Hawkeye was rolling us over so that I was on my back, his lips against mine again as one of his hands leisurely explored my chest, arms, and stomach, finally sliding lower and taking my erection into his palm. I groaned into his mouth, suddenly not caring what they talked about, but certainly enjoying the result of it.

I was so completely wrapped up in the way he was kissing me and touching me that I didn't even feel him enter me until he was fully inside. We both shuddered at the pleasure caused by the joining of our bodies and I clung to him tightly as if I were trying to absorb him directly through my skin. He moved slowly, making me feel as though time itself had stopped and I was lost in the vastness of a single second. If I had ever considered our previous encounters as lovemaking, I was wrong…this was what making love felt like. I wrapped my arms fiercely around him, desperate not to waste one millisecond.

"Hawkeye," I half whispered, half sobbed blissfully, my voice hoarse from the emotional lump that was currently lodged in my throat.

"John," he breathed against my ear.

We peaked together, clinging to each other tightly. The release wasn't frenzied; rather instead it seemed to be as quietly intense as the entire encounter—a slow build of extreme pleasure that reached its zenith and just as slowly ebbed out of us. Hawkeye was holding me tightly as he lay over me, still inside of me. His face was pressed against my shoulder and I could feel him shaking ever so slightly, sniffing softly. I realized then that he was weeping. I hugged him just as tightly as he was holding me, pressing my lips against his shoulder.

We didn't speak for several minutes, but finally, with one last squeeze of my body, he carefully pushed off of me, withdrawing himself and moving over beside me. His face was wet and he wiped away the trace of his tears with his thumb. I turned on my side to face him, surprised and touched that he had cried.

"Christ, we're turning into a couple of sissies, Dago." He said, his voice thick with emotion. I knew he was kidding, trying to lighten the heavy mood that had settled over us. I knew he didn't like to cry in front of other people, even me, so I decided that changing the subject was the best course of action.

"What made you decide to talk to Sidney?"

He reached for his cigarettes, handing one to me automatically before flicking his Zippo, lighting mine before his. "I wasn't going to," he admitted, blowing out a line of smoke. "I don't need someone like Sidney telling me I belong in a rubber room, but we were shooting a game of pool and found ourselves without the others so I made mention that he seemed to help fix you up. He asked if you'd told me what the two of you talked about and I told him you'd just given me a brief overview. He asked if there was something I had on my mind that I wanted to talk about. I was going to say no, but I ended up asking him what he thought about you and me. He said it wasn't anyone's business but ours, but that he could tell we really care for each other, which suited him just fine. Then he did his damn head shrinking on me and asked me how serious I thought the relationship was. I told him I knew I was in deep, and told him that I'd fantasized about us living together after the war. He asked what I would do about Mary and the kids…"

I saw him swallow hard, his eyes focused on the cigarette in his hand. I didn't push him to continue, knowing he would get there on his own time.

"I told him I didn't know, but that I was sure I didn't want to lose her and the boys…I also told him I didn't want to lose you either. He made me consider all the scenarios—telling Mary about our relationship, her leaving; telling her and her staying; not telling her and sneaking around behind her back; her giving me an ultimatum between you and her…. He's really relentless. He told me that you and I both have certain concessions to make if do take our relationship beyond this war—you in dealing with the Church and answering to God, me in dealing with and answering to my wife and kids."

I nodded in agreement.

He met my eyes then, looking at me with complete seriousness. "Tell me what you want, Dago. Where do you see this going?"

I mirrored his earlier swallow. "I don't want to lose you either, Hawkeye. I don't have a perfect picture in my mind of how life will be after the war, but…I can envision us meeting up like we planned. Maybe once a year, maybe more frequently, depending on our lives and schedules. I think the separation will be the hardest thing to accept, but that's what they made letters and telephones for."

He clasped my hand in his. "I don't know how I'm going to feel about telling Mary about this once I get home, but—right now—I think that I will. Maybe she'll accept it, maybe she'll divorce me, but either way I think she has a right to know. If she gives me an ultimatum or tries to forbid me from ever seeing you or speaking to you again…well, I'll cross that bridge when I get there, but I've know Mary long enough that I think she'll be okay with this…maybe not at first, but eventually."

I leaned in and kissed Hawkeye, anxious but glad that we were on the same page about the future. There were still so many unknowns, but it was pointless to try and work those out when I didn't yet have any idea where I would go after Korea, and he didn't know how his wife might react to the news that he was sexually involved with another man. I felt that feeling of hope grow a little brighter inside of me nonetheless, and we laid together that night, considering possible futures and teasing each other about whether or not we would still be as physically attracted to one another in 20 years as we were now.

"I'm not sure I'll still want to go down on your wrinkled old ball sac," Hawkeye teased. I socked him in the shoulder, making him laugh as he rubbed the sore spot I'd left behind.

"I'm not sure I'll find you as endearing as I do now when you've started going bald and you look like a frog in pants from the behind."

"May I remind you, Dago, that you're 5 years older than me. If anyone's going to be bald and frog-like, it'll be you first."

We both laughed hysterically as the taunting continued into the wee hours of the morning and he finally had to resign himself to leaving. We stood at my door, kissing goodnight through our smiles.

"You know, baby, as much as I'm going to miss the hell out of you come February, I'm not dreading it as much as I was."

"I think I still I am," I told him honestly, "But I'm better about it than I was, so that's progress."

He kissed me again. "We're going to work this out, baby. Just you wait and see."

I watched him walk back to the Swamp, hoping he was right.

When Christmas Eve day rolled around, I was busy loading up a jeep with food, medical supplies, and presents that several of the nurses had bought or made for the children at the local orphanage. As had become my custom for Christmas in Korea, I first visited the orphanage, where I would spend most of the day, and then I would travel up to Shaking Sammy's unit to give an early rendition of Midnight Mass. I would make it back to the 4077th in time to deliver the Midnight Mass service to my own camp, enjoy the late night festivities and a glass or two of eggnog before a few hours sleep. Christmas Day I would give one service at the 4077th, and several at various other units in the area. It was definitely one of the 2 busiest times of the year for me—the other being the week of Easter with Ash Wednesday and Easter Sunday.

Hawkeye sauntered up the jeep as I was mentally checking over my list of supplies to see that I'd gotten everything. "Got a sec?"

"Only just," I looked at him, shading my eyes from the extraordinarily bright morning sun. December in Korea was typically a very gray month, with overcast skies, snow or rain. The sunshine was a welcomed sight, even if it was blinding.

Hawkeye held up a shabbily wrapped present in brown paper and string. "I know it's not technically Christmas yet, but I thought I'd give you your present early."

I laughed softly, touched at the gesture as I took the gift and carefully unwrapped it, finding a pair of thick cashmere socks inside. I smiled broadly. "Socks!"

He chuckled in amusement. "You're the only person who could get excited over a pair of socks, Dago. I picked those up last week when I had to go to Seoul with Trapper to consult on a kid. I didn't think it'd be so hard to find a good pair of socks."

"Well, thank you. They're wonderful." I smiled and looked up at him. "Would you care for your gift now or later?"

He grinned lecherously at me, obviously thinking of the sex part of his gift request. "Are you sure you have time?"

I rolled my eyes. "Wait here."

I carried my socks to my tent, putting them in my foot locker for safe keeping and pulling out the bottle of cognac that I'd had Radar track down. It had ended up costing me a lot in trade, but that didn't matter. I hadn't wrapped it, but I didn't figure Hawkeye wouldn't much care. I held the bottle in one hand behind my back.

"Close your eyes."

He refrained from making a crack this time and did as I asked.

"Hold out your hands."

Again, he did as I asked without comment, and I carefully placed the bottle in his hands, waiting until he was holding it firmly before I let go.

"Merry Christmas, Hawkeye."

He looked at the bottle and his lips slowly curled into a thoughtful smile before he paused and eyed me curiously, "Do I have to wait until you get back before I open this?"

I laughed, but shook my head. "No; please, enjoy it."

"Thank you, Dago." He said sincerely. "You'll be back for the party, won't you?"

"I hope to be. I still have the Midnight Mass service here to be back in time for."

"Take care out there."

"Thanks, I will. Don't drink the _entire_ bottle while I'm gone."

"I'll try," he grinned.

I climbed into the jeep, gave him a small wave, and headed off for my first destination. Visiting the orphans and Sister Theresa always brought me great joy. As usual, they invited me to join them for lunch, then we passed out the gifts from myself and the camp and watched them tear open the paper and marvel at whatever was inside. It didn't matter how small or plain or boring the gift was, the children were always delighted to get presents and it melted my heart, making me grateful to bear witness to their joy. We sat outside while the children played in the rare December sunshine for most of the afternoon, and then it was time for me to go.

I made it to Shaking Sammy's and was greeted, as was typical, with a very enthusiastic handshake by Sammy.

"So good to see you, Father," he said, pumping my arm like he was trying to get water from a dry well.

"How are you, Sammy?"

"Just wonderful. Come on in to the mess tent, the cooks have made us a fine Christmas Eve feast. I'd be honored if you'd bless it for us before we all sit down together."

The entirety of the engineer's camp was gathered around what was, indeed, a very fine feast laid out on the tables that had all been pushed into one long line. I said grace over the meal, and sat down next to Sammy as the food was passed around. After the feast, Sammy and I helped clear up and arrange the mess tent for the Midnight Mass service, then sat and talked for a while before it was time for me to start the service.

"So how are things at the Double Natural?" Sammy asked.

"Same as always, a little bit of a Christmas rush before they called the truce, but not as bad as it's been over the last several months."

"And what about those heathens that call themselves doctors?"

"They're not so bad, Sammy. Their pranks really are harmless."

"Harmless?" He groused. "Those hooligans tried to crucify me. You'd do well to baptism them by fire, if they don't burn, then maybe there's hope they can be saved."

"Captain Pierce and I have become good friends. I've gained a little insight into his past, and I understand him better now. He's not as much of a heathen as you think he is, Sam."

"Watch yourself, John. You dance with the Devil by befriending that one. I'm telling you, he's destined for Hell."

"Only God can determine who will be sent to Hell, Samuel." I rebuked, angry for Hawkeye's sake, though I knew he would have just laughed and probably agreed with Sammy. "Our duty is not to judge His children, but to guide them."

"Well, they _will_ reap what they sow."

"I don't condone what they did to you, Sammy, but you must learn to forgive them. Remember what Matthew tells us: 'For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.' We are men of God, Samuel, holding grudges serves no purpose for us."

"You just wait, John, and you'll see that I'm right. They are the Devil's own and they will drag you down to Hell with them."

His words stuck with me as time drew near for me to start the service. While I knew he was wrong about the boys belonging to Satan, my fear in God's wrath for the sins I was committing with Hawkeye had bubbled to the surface. I was glad that I was delivering the Christmas message about our Savior being born. A Savior who was sent to Earth, destined to be sacrificed on the cross for our sins. It helped reinforce my belief that even though I was committing a terrible offense to God, I was forgiven. However, knowing that didn't grant me explicit permission to go around sinning or telling others they could do as they pleased as long as they believed in Christ our King. It just meant living with the disgrace of my actions, and knowing I would be accountable in the end. I had known this, and I still accepted it.

As the sun began to set, I said goodbye to Sammy and his unit, got in the jeep and headed back to the 4077th. As I arrived, our own camp's Christmas feast was in the process of being laid out in the mess tent. Most of the camp was already gathered outside, waiting for the doors to be opened. Hawkeye and several of the other boys were the first in line, acting like doorman and denying entry to anyone who wasn't set to be working in the mess tent.. Hawkeye whistled to me and waved me over.

"Hey! No cutting in line," someone hollered teasingly from the back as I approached the gang.

"Hello boys," I greeted.

"How's it goin', Dago Redo?" Duke asked.

"Oh, fine, thanks. What have you boys been up to all day?"

"Havin' ourselves some of that smooth cognac you gave to Hawkeye and smokin' some fine cigars that my wife sent me." Duke answered, sounding more than a little tipsy.

"Sounds like quite the experience." I smirked at Hawkeye, "I thought I told you not to drink it all."

"You know, Dago, I'm a little offended you didn't get each of us a bottle of cognac. What makes Hawkeye so special?" Trapper asked.

"He asked for it." I shrugged. Just then Henry called out to me as he approached.

"Welcome back., Padre. How were the orphans and Shaking Sammy?"

"The orphans were pleased with their gifts. Sister Theresa and the children send their heartfelt thanks. Shaking Sammy is also good; though I'm afraid he did not pass on any good tidings for Captains Peirce, McIntyre and Forrest."

"Why am I not surprised?" Henry said as he eyed Hawkeye, Trapper and Duke with an embittered gaze. "Well, it seems you made it back just in time. Would you care to bless the meal for us?"

I gave a nod and followed Henry into the tent. The rest of the camp followed suit, folding themselves into the long string of tables that had been moved together and set up for the occasion. Hawkeye and Trapper left a space for me between them as I stood back, waiting for everyone to be seated and get quiet.

"Pipe down!" Hawkeye hollered over the din.

I blushed, chuckling softly at the immediate effect it had on the crowd. "Thank you, Hawkeye…If you'll all bow your heads, please…Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen."

As dishes were passed around, I took my seat between Hawkeye and Trapper, taking only small amounts of food. Trapper looked at my plate skeptically.

"What are you, fasting or something?"

"No, but this will have been my 2nd dinner of the day. I'm still quite full from the first one."

"Man, suddenly I regret not going into the priesthood," Duke said across the table. "Seems like all you guys do is eat and drink wine."

"Only when there's occasion to," I laughed softly.

"I think you guys just make up occasions," Hawkeye mused beside me as he peppered his mashed potatoes. "Christmas, Ash Wednesday, Good Friday, Easter…"

"Christmas and Easter are but a few of the Holy Days we celebrate, yes."

"What? There's more?" Duke asked incredulously with his mouth full across the table.

"The short answer is: yes." I didn't want to try and explain to them all of the Holy Days of Obligation, or the ten Feasts of Precept indicated by the Code of Canon Law in the Catholic Church, mostly because I knew they probably didn't care.

"How do you keep up with all of them?" Hawkeye asked with genuine interest.

"They happen on the same day every year, or at least around the same day. I didn't study Catholic dogma and become an ordained priest without having it all drilled into me, though." I grinned. "You do have to pass examinations before you get a license to preach."

They laughed and the conversation naturally shifted as Trapper inquired, "So Shaking Sammy still despises us, does he?"

"I'm afraid so. Though, to be fair, you boys didn't make much of a good impression on him when you refused to apologize for trying to burn him on the cross."

"Eh, he's a discredit to people of your ilk," Hawkeye said. "I couldn't care less what he thinks about us."

I sighed softly and shook my head, knowing that the parties involved in that incident would never find any middle ground, and I would be wasting my breath to try and convince them to see eye to eye on the matter.

"You coming to the party tonight, Red?" Trapper asked, changing the subject yet again.

"For a while, I'm sure. Tomorrow will be a busy day for me, and today has already run me a little ragged."

"Well, you have to at least stop by." Duke said. "We've got somethin' planned."

"Should I worry?"

The only answer was laughter.

After supper, I headed back to my tent to try and rest and reflect before I gave my second Christmas sermon. As I lay on my cot, thinking about the life of Jesus and almost dozing off, there was a rhythmic tapping at my door that I immediately recognized.

"Come in, Hawkeye," I smiled.

"You weren't asleep, were you?" He asked as he came in and sat on the edge of my cot. I noticed he had his bottle of cognac and two glasses in his hands.

"No, just resting up before Mass." I pointed to the bottle. "You didn't drink it all?"

"Nope, I made sure to save enough for us to have a little snort."

"That's very kind of you, but you didn't have to save any for me."

"I know I didn't _have_ to," he said as he poured the remainder of the brandy between the two glasses. "I _wanted_ to."

I sat up as he handed me a glass.

"At the risk of sounding cheesy," he said, swirling the brandy distractedly in his glass, "I'd like to make a toast. To you, who has not only become a close friend—and believe me, that in itself says something—but also one of the three great loves of my life."

"Three?" I asked, arching my eyebrow at him.

"You, Mary and golf." He grinned.

I laughed softly, but I was quite touched by his words. We drank to the toast and I leaned in to give him a kiss. "You really are a hopeless romantic, you know that, right?"

"How so?"

"Serenading me, toasting me…" I quickly added, "But don't get me wrong, I love when you those things."

He grinned and winked at me before draining the rest of his glass and laying down next to me on the cot. "Mary never takes me seriously if I do any of that to her. Not that I blame her. She threatened to kill me if I pulled anything at our wedding, and she wouldn't let me near the delivery room when either of the boys were born. She knows me too well."

I didn't mind Hawkeye talking about his wife and children, but it still made me feel uncomfortable and I wasn't sure what to say in response, so I finished my drink. Honestly speaking, half the time I didn't know whether or not Hawkeye was being truly sentimental or if it was just a gag, but I knew either way he meant whatever he said. It was just more in his personality range to laugh about it than it was to be serious. I had to wonder if this schmaltzy side of him was my influence.

I checked my watch and saw that it was nearly eleven. "I should probably start getting ready. It actually takes a bit of time to get dressed. There's kind of a little ritual to it."

"Should I go?"

"You can stay if you want…if you don't mind me praying out loud." I leaned down and kissed him again, handing him my empty glass. "Thank you for the brandy…and for what you said."

With that, I got up and began to pull out items of clothing from where I kept my vestments, as well as a small, shallow basin and a silver flask-like container with a cross.

"I didn't realize getting drunk was part of the ritual," Hawkeye teased quietly.

I smirked as I knelt on the floor and poured the liquid from the container into the basin. "It's holy water, not wine. Now be quiet."

I could feel his answering grin even though I wasn't looking at him. I dipped my hands into the water, slowly washing them as I prayed in Latin, "Da, Domine, virtutem manibus meis ad abstergendam omnem maculam; ut sine pollutione mentis et corporis valeam tibi servire." ((Give strength to my hands, O Lord, that being cleansed from all stain I might serve you with purity of mind and body.)) At the end of the prayer, I used the water dripping from my finger tips to anoint myself as I crossed myself in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. I set the basin aside, and got to my feet.

I changed from my fatigues into a pair of black trousers and white button down shirt with a neckband collar. It wasn't necessary to wear a roman collar with these shirts, and I hardly ever did anyways unless I was wearing my typical black cassock I reserved for general Sunday sermons. I stuck on a pair of black dress socks and slipped my feet into a pair of simple black shoes.

Over my clothes, I placed the rectangular white linen amice over my shoulders, pulling the strings under my arms and crossing them around my back before pulling them to the front and tying it around my waist. "Impone, Domine, capiti meo galeam salutis, ad expugnandos diabolicos incursus." ((Place upon me, O Lord, the helmet of salvation, that I may overcome the assaults of the devil.))

I then pulled on the long, white robe-like alb, as I continued to pray, "Dealba me, Domine, et munda cor meum; ut, in sanguine Agni dealbatus, gaudiis perfruar sempiternis." ((Make me white, O Lord, and cleanse my heart; that being made white in the Blood of the Lamb I may deserve an eternal reward.))

Next came the garment that brought me the most shame: the cincture, the symbol of chastity. As I tied the rope-like tasseled cord into a Roman Knot, I spoke this prayer in a softer voice, closing my eyes. "Praecinge me, Domine, cingulo puritatis, et exstingue in lumbis meis humorem libidinis; ut maneat in me virtus continentiae et castitatis." ((Gird me, O Lord, with the cincture of purity, and quench in my heart the fire of concupiscence, that the virtue of continence and chastity may abide in me.))

I opened my eyes and glanced at Hawkeye, who was now sitting cross-legged in my cot, watching and listening with intrigue. He gave me a soft, reassuring smile even though he probably only had a vague idea of what I'd just said, then he looked towards the Heavens. "Don't worry, God, I'll keep my hands off of him for now."

I blushed deeply, not sure if I should scold him or not, but let it go. He, at the very least, seemed to understand my distress, and that was enough.

I picked up a long gold-on-crimson silk damasked stole, placing a kiss against the gold cross embroidered at the neckline before I draped it over my shoulders, making sure that the gold fringe hung evenly at shin-length. "Redde mihi, Domine, stolam immortalitatis, quam perdidi in praevaricatione primi parentis; et, quamvis indignus accedo ad tuum sacrum mysterium, merear tamen gaudium sempiternum." ((Lord, restore the stole of immortality, which I lost through the collusion of our first parents, and, unworthy as I am to approach Thy sacred mysteries, may I yet gain eternal joy.))

Lastly, I slipped my Christmas chasuble over my head, arranging it symmetrically across my shoulders as I said, "Domine, qui dixisti: Iugum meum suave est, et onus meum leve: fac, ut istud portare sic valeam, quod consequar tuam gratiam. Amen." ((O Lord, who has said, "My yoke is sweet and My burden light," grant that I may so carry it as to merit Thy grace.))

The customary color worn by the clergy at Christmas was white, but the chasuble I always chose to wear for Midnight Mass was pale gold and made of silk. It had a rounded neckline, and the bottom of the circular garment fell to my knees. Perhaps what I liked most about this chasuble was the fact that it was layered with the same gold-on-crimson damasked silk that my stole was made of. There was a long, wide stripe that bisected the center of the garment from neck to knee in both front and back, and layered over that was a chevron-shaped pattern of the same material that formed a V to the middle of my chest, and was mirrored down my back between my shoulder blades, all of which was trimmed in gold silk. To say that this was my favorite garment was an understatement.

Hawkeye gave a long, low whistle. "That's quite the ensemble, Dago."

"I told you one of the things I always admired about the clergy was the vestments." I blushed.

He smiled softly. "You look very… regal. I didn't realize you had to pray over every item of clothing. And in Latin."

"Not everything," I laughed. "You'll notice I didn't pray over my socks and shoes. But, yes, the vestments are representatives of the vows I took, my service to God, and the burdens of Christ. Each one represents something different: purity, chastity, eternal life…"

"I still think that's a lot to remember."

I smiled, but rejoined with, "Since you're here, would you mind helping me carry some things to the mess tent and setting up there?"

"Oh, sure, that's why you wanted me to stay." He teased.

"You betcha," I grinned.

Since I had no deacons to assist me during services, I always had to prepare the Eucharist prior to the start of services so that the only thing left to do was to go through the blessing before allowing the congregation to participate in communion. I placed the communion wafers into a small bowl and took out the decanter of sacramental wine, communion cup, and a small white square of linen cloth with another gold cross and the monogram of IHS in scripted font embroidered on one corner.

"Do you ever run out of any of this stuff?" Hawkeye asked as I handed him the wine, cloth, and cup.

"I have to take inventory of my stock," I told him. "Anytime I get low, I have to order more supplies through the Military Vicar's Office."

I took the bowl of wafers and picked up my Bible, which I had already bookmarked the passages in, and looked around. "That's everything."

"And just in time," Hawkeye grinned, looking at his watch. He walked beside me to the mess tent. The tables had already been pushed back and the benches lined up into pews with one table draped in a white cloth next to a battered wooden podium. I set my Bible on the podium, and then arranged the table that served as the altar. I was more than a little surprised to see that quite a few of Hawkeye's gang had come, and even more surprised when Hawkeye joined them near the back. Knowing they were watching me suddenly made me very nervous that they might try to disrupt the service, but it also gave me hope that I might inspire them to give more than just lip service to God.

I motioned for those who had gathered to stand and began the introductory rites of Mass, concluding with the recitation of Gloria and the opening prayer, before opening my Bible and reading to them the story of the birth of Jesus from the book of Matthew.

I was aware of all eyes on me as I read, and while I was accustomed to standing before large congregations presenting Mass, I felt my voice quavering slightly under Hawkeye's gaze. I silently prayed to be fortified by God and banished all thoughts of Hawkeye from my mind. While he was here, he was a Lamb of God, even if but a wayward sheep of my flock, and I could not be distracted by his presence. Whether or not God heard my prayers and answered them, my voice did grow strong and steady and he became a blur to me during the service.

None of Hawkeye's gang took communion, except for Painless, who was the only Catholic of the bunch, but they did boisterously sing along to the carols of Silent Night and O Holy Night before I gave the closing prayer and dismissed everyone. They were the last in line to greet me after the service as I shook hands with everyone who came. Trapper was the first to grab my hand, nearly yanking my arm out of socket as he vigorously shook it.

"Magnificent service, Father." His tone was overly-dramatic, so I wasn't quite sure how serious he was being.

"I'm glad you boys came," I said, rather than thanking him for his sarcasm.

"We figured, with it being Christmas and all, it was the least we could do." Duke said, shaking my hand less vigorously.

"That and none of us have ever been to one of your services before," Bandini admitted.

"It's never too late to start." I invited.

"Don't press your luck, Dago," Ugly John warned. "We're lucky they saw it within themselves to be here tonight.

"Merry Christmas, Dago." Painless said sincerely.

"Merry Christmas, Walt."

Hawkeye shook my hand last, which felt very strange. Of all the times he and I had touched, kissed, made love, I'd only ever shaken his hand once before this—the day we first met. His grip was warm and firm, his thumb lightly resting on the back of my hand, index finger just brushing against my wrist. I nearly giggled at how absurd it felt. His eyes were soft behind the tinted lenses, but I knew he was going to be sarcastic just like the rest of them…he had to be. "I hate to spoil it for you, Dago, but I peeked at the end. The Devil did it."

I laughed softly and he squeezed my hand before letting go.

"Go get outta that get-up and come back over here. We're gonna start setting up for the party." Duke said.

"Need a hand carrying all that stuff back?" Hawkeye asked.

"If you don't mind."

Hawkeye helped me carry everything back to my tent and we put it all away before he reclined on my cot to watch me undress. De-vesting was certainly less of a ritual than vesting, though there was still a certain order to removing the vestments. I removed first the chasuble, then the stole, then the cincture, the alb, the amice, shoes, socks, shirt, and trousers. I knelt on the floor, pulling over the basin of holy water in front of me and again washed my hands, this time reciting the Lord's Prayer.

"Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen."

I crossed myself one last time, then stood and put on my fatigues and dog tags before picking up the basin of water, carrying it the door of my tent, and pouring it out on the ground outside.

When I finally finished putting everything away, Hawkeye looked at me.

"Can I kiss you now?"

I laughed softly and answered him by pulling him to his feet and dragging him into a tender embrace.

TBC

1.) Alfred Kinsey was a biologist who founded the The Kinsey Institute for Research in Sex, Gender, and Reproduction in 1947. In 1948 he published Sexual Behavior in the Human Male in which he introduced the Kinsey Scale. The scale rated men (and later women) from 0 to 6, with 0 being exclusively heterosexual and 6 being exclusively homosexual (X assigned to asexual individuals). Kinsey was a very progressive scientist of the time, and his studies very controversial, but have become widely accepted by today's society, and the basis for many subsequent studies.

Author's Feedback: For visual reference of Dago's Midnight Mass attire go to [this site.](www.Holyroodguild.com/xcart2/San-Lorenzo-Chasuble.html)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye's POV.
> 
> Much of the storyline of this chapter follows along with that of M*A*S*H Goes to Maine, written by Richard Hooker (1972). Some alterations have been made. Much of the dialog between Hawkeye and several characters has been directly quoted. No copyright infringement intended.

Dago's kiss rapidly spiraled us downward into a session of deep, heavy petting. There was something intrinsically naughty about having his hand down the front of my pants, fingers curled around my cock stroking me only moments after he'd just been wearing all the ornate garments of his office. Even naughtier was the fact that I wished I could have fucked him while he'd still be wearing all of that.

We furiously masturbated one another, almost as if it was a race to see who could make the other finish first. Our tongues were vying for dominance, lips fused together. He moaned softly into my mouth, breathing heavily through his nose. I knew he was close but fighting it. My cock jerked in response, reminding me just how much it turned me on to seduce him, to make him cum.

His lips broke away from mine as he threw his head back, drawing in a hiss of breath, his fingers tightening further around my cock. He hoarsely cried out "Hawkeye!" and then he was cumming into my hand.

As he came, he lost a little bit of rhythm and grip on my cock, but it didn't hinder me from cumming seconds later myself, pulling him back into a breathless kiss as I spilled myself between his fingers. Our hands slowly stilled on each other's throbbing cocks and I broke the kiss to rest my forehead against his as we both stood there, panting for air.

"Christ, that felt good," I murmured.

"Very good," he agreed, nodding softly as he extracted his hand from my pants and found a towel. I wiped my own hand off before I seized him up in my arms again and kissed him. He grinned at me as we let each other go and grabbed his cigarettes, offering one to me before lighting us up.

"We better get back to the mess tent," I told him, exhaling a breath of smoke. "They'll be wondering where the fuck I am."

He nodded and held the door to his tent open for me before we crossed back to the mess tent, standing outside just long enough to finish our cigarettes. We could hear that the party was already in full swing—the nurses were singing Christmas carols loudly and there was quite a bit of laughter filtering out into the cold night. We finished our cigarettes and headed inside.

"Damn, man, where the hell you been?" Duke asked me as we found him in the crowded tent.

"He's a got a fucking ritual for everything," I said, pointing at Dago. "Blame him."

Dago gave me a stern look, but couldn't keep the smirk off his face as he shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Well, here," Duke said, pressing a glass of eggnog into each of our hands. "Our guest should be along soon."

"Guest?" Dago asked.

"He's a good friend of yours, Red. Said he'd be stopping by." Duke grinned.

I watched Dago's brow wrinkle in total confusion and he looked to me for clarification, but I didn't say anything, mostly because I knew he'd probably be pissed at us for it and I didn't want him angry at me just yet. We mingled for a while, chatting with Painless and the others, but I could see Dago stifling yawns every few minutes.

I looked around for Duke, but didn't see him until the doors opened and in a grand voice he called out, "Presenting your Lord and Master, Trapper John 'Jesus Christ' McIntyre."

Trapper, who over the course of the last couple of months had been letting his hair and beard grow long in an attempt to annoy Henry, walked in dressed in nothing but a white bed sheet fashioned like a toga. One of the inadvertent side effects of his rebellion was the fact that Trapper now bore an uncanny resemblance to Jesus Christ.

There were some laughs of disbelief, some gasps, as people looked at Dago to see how they should react. Even I was turning to look at him, though afraid to see the expression on his face. He was looking at Trapper with an oddly unreadable expression on his face. Trapper spotted him and the sea of people in the tent parted, making an aisle as Trapper walked up to Dago and drew a cross in the air in a very Jesus-like manner.

"Peace be with you, Father."

Dago's lips finally curled up just slightly as his eyebrows raised and he chortled in amusement. "Now I really have seen it all. You boys are unbelievable."

"You're not mad?" I asked in disbelief, having been so certain he would have been livid with us.

"I probably should be," he said laughing as he shook his head looking over Trapper. "But no, I'm not. I think, sadly enough, I've become desensitized to your gags."

"We should get a picture of all of us with Jesus," Duke said. "Anyone got a camera?"

"I've got one," Radar's voice came from somewhere nearby.

Several people gathered around Trapper, and I pulled Dago in next to me, draping my arm around his shoulders. A couple of group shots were taken, some serious and some playful, then Radar asked to get a few pictures of different people—Me, Trapper and Duke; Painless and his poker buddies; some of the nurses; one of him and Coronel Blake that he asked me to take for him; and one of all of the Swamp rats, including Dago. I caught Dago stifling yawns again, and knew he'd soon be making his leave.

"Hey, Radar, would you mind to get a picture of just me and Dago Red?" I asked him quietly, taking off my glasses and putting them in my shirt pocket.

"Oh, yeah, sure Hawkeye."

I pulled Dago away from the others, and stuck my arm around his shoulders once again. Dago put his arm around my lower back and we both smiled for the camera as Radar took the picture.

"Make us some copies of all the pictures, won't you, Radar?"

"Of course, sir."

"I think I should turn in," Dago said with another yawn.

As much as I wanted to walk him home and kiss him goodnight, I knew the others would be looking for me sooner rather than later, so I merely nodded and ruffled his hair. "I'm glad you're not mad about the Trapper/Jesus bit."

"I think I've come to expect it from you boys now." He half laughed. "Though it makes me wonder if Shaking Sammy was right."

"Right about what?"

"That you're all going to Hell," he said with a smirk.

I laughed and ruffled his hair again. "Get outta here, Losing Preacher."

He laughed, swatting my hand away from his head. "Good night, Hawkeye."

"Hey, Dago…" I called as he started to walk away. He stopped and looked at me over his shoulder. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Hawkeye."

The New Year was rung in with a bang as the Christmas truce was broken—just as it always was—in the middle of Christmas day. The wounded rotated in and out of the camp for the next week, and we all found ourselves singing Auld Lang Syne in the OR as we worked straight through midnight and well into the morning of January 1st.

It was hard to believe that it was January 1953. I hadn't seen Mary or the boys since 1951 when they'd shipped my ass over here. I'd missed an entire year and some months of their lives. God, I hated the army…

It was also hard to believe that in exactly 40 days, my 18 month sentence would be over and I'd be going home while Dago stayed here. I wanted to spend every waking—and sleeping—moment with him, but my and Duke's replacements were scheduled to arrive any day now and Henry wanted us to spend the next few weeks getting them trained, which meant time with Dago would be extremely limited.

I noticed Dago's smoking habits increasing as we rolled through the first couple of weeks of January, and I knew his anxiety level was probably through the roof. We spent less time talking and more time fucking the nights I was able to make it over to his tent. Being shadowed by my replacement was really becoming a hindrance as I found him following me to the latrine half the time, and most of my free time was teaching him how to be a meatball surgeon. I really hated Henry for saddling me with that shit.

By the end of the month, Dago was visibly depressed. I noticed he was barely eating, looked like he was barely sleeping, and he was practically chain smoking. Though I was supposed to be going over S.O.P. (Standard Operating Procedures) for being in charge of a shift with my replacement, I pawned him off on Duke instead and went to talk to Dago.

"You've got to pull it together, Dago. You're a train wreck." I said as we sat outside his tent. January's weather wasn't much finer than December's, but at least it didn't rain or snow every day. Today was just mildly overcast and cold.

"I know," he said glumly. "I'm trying, Hawkeye. I really am."

"Look, you've got less than a year left with the army, baby. You can do it. Maybe…I dunno…maybe if you're back in the states by Christmas, you could come spend the holidays with me and Mary and the kids. I mean, December's a lot closer than next summer, right?"

"Yeah…" he sighed. "I don't want to impose, though, Hawkeye. Especially when you haven't talked to your wife about it and…well…it would just be a little awkward."

"I'm sure by then I'll have talked to her and I'll write you with whatever happens, okay? That way you'll know how she feels about this."

"What if you tell her and she tells you she'll leave if you ever speak to me again?" He asked looking up at me seriously. "How would I ever know?"

"Even though I don't see that happening, I will find a way to tell you. I won't just disappear without warning, Dago. I promise."

He sighed again, rubbing his temples. "Why am I so pathetic?"

"You're not pathetic," I told him softly. "This is hard for me, too; trust me. If I could pack Korea up and take it with me just so I'd have you, I would. But, baby, I know what it's like to be away from someone you love. I've spent the last 18 months away from my wife and kids. Granted, I've had you for part of that time, but you know what I mean. It's hard, but it's not impossible."

"I know…" he said, sighing for the third time.

Seeing him so distraught was making it harder to get excited about going home to Mary. I already didn't want to leave him, but I didn't anticipate it would be as hard as it was on him. I figured he'd miss me, but he'd be able to do his God work without being distracted by me. I hoped that once I was gone and my departure wasn't looming over our heads anymore, it would be better for him. Anticipation always seemed to worsen anxiety.

The final 72 hour countdown began, but life progressed as normally as it could around us. Duke and I had pretty much been relieved of our duties as our replacements worked on getting their feet wet and we didn't do much of anything unless there were just an exorbitant amount of wounded in the compound. I was in the mess tent one afternoon writing a letter to Dago that I intended to give him the day I left. Everyone else was in the or, except Duke who was busy packing so he'd be ready the minute we were officially discharged.

"Hawkeye?" Radar's voice sounded to my right and I looked over to see him holding an envelope.

"What's up, babe?"

"I finally got those pictures from the Christmas party back. Just in time too, since you'll be leaving and all." He handed me the envelope, then gave me a nervous, but knowing look as he lowered his voice. "There's two copies of the pictures with you and Father Mulcahy…you know…in case you want to give him one."

I looked at Radar quizzically for a long moment. "You know, don't you?"

"Sir?" he asked, trying to sound like he didn't know what I was talking about.

I laughed softly and shook my head. "It's okay, Radar… how long have you known?"

He looked shy and uncomfortable, scratching his head through his skull cap. "Since August. Oh, but don't worry, Hawkeye, I haven't told anyone—an-and I won't, neither. Honest!"

"At ease, soldier," I teased, still laughing. "It's probably best that you don't let on that you know, Radar…unless you think it might help him."

He nodded. "We'll miss you around here, Hawkeye."

"Well, hopefully I've taught Jameson a thing or two and he'll be able to give me a run for my money."

The night before our departure was filled with much celebration and just as much consternation. There was a party in the mess tent, in which Duke and I were presented with parting gifts from most of the personnel. Some were cheesy and meant to be a gag, some were thoughtful. Dago's was the one that meant the most to me. First, he placed his hands on the crown of mine and Duke's head and prayed over us in Latin, translating it into English as well so we knew what he had said.

"Angele Dei, qui custos es mei, me tibi commissum pietate superna; Hodie illumine, custodi, rege, et guberna….Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom his love commits me here; Ever this day be at my side, to light and guard, to rule and guide. Amen."

Dago then presented Duke with a purple and white ribbon-like item that I recognized as one of the stoles he often wore in the OR. "Duke, even though we are of differing branches of Christianity, we believe in the same God. During a time of need, when I was unable to perform my sacred duties, you volunteered yourself to take up my yoke and minister to the camp, reminding us all of the miracles of Christ by turning water to wine. Please take this stole, which is a symbol of the clerical office, immortality and the burden of Christ. Let it serve as a reminder that while your time here may have been a burden to you and your loved ones, you helped saved the lives of many."

Duke looked as though he might actually cry as Dago kissed the cross at the nape of the stole before placing it around Duke's neck, letting it hang down the front of his chest.

Dago sighed when he stood in front of me and pulled out an item wrapped in a handkerchief from his pocket. As he spoke, he unfolded the handkerchief. "The Tibetan Buddhists have a symbol called the Dpal be'u, the eternal knot, which represents the interweaving of the spiritual path, the flow of time, and progression into eternity. It's said to represent eternal love and friendship, the endless cycle of birth, death and rebirth, the intertwining of wisdom and compassion, and the wisdom of the Buddha. It has no beginning and no end and serves as a symbol of lasting happiness and joy. This bracelet was given to me by a Buddhist monk when I served as a missionary in Tibet. I watched as he carved the symbol by hand into the bone of a yak and fashioned it onto a string with wooden beads. I give it now to you as a representation of the friendship that we have forged. May it be a symbol of the compassion you have for the life and suffering of others. May it remind you always of the lives you have touched and connected with while you were here in Korea. And may it bring you everlasting happiness."

I watched him pick up my hand as he slipped the circlet of wood, string and bone around my wrist, pulling the ends of the slip knot taut so that it was secure.

"Damn Dago…" Duke said softly beside us, his voice thick with emotion. I was glad I wasn't the only one feeling emotional. I looked up into Dago's eyes, seeing them shimmering slightly. He gave me a very soft smile, then looked at both me and Duke.

"May God bless you both and keep you safe."

As his was the last gift presented, the mood in the tent had suddenly turned very emotional and several of the nurses were wiping their eyes on their handkerchiefs, even several of my fellow swamp rats looked touched by Dago's words and offerings. I knew I had to change the tone of the party before we all spent the rest of the night sobbing.

I cleared my throat and stood up, putting my arm around Dago's shoulders. "Leave it to Dago Red to bring us all to tears…usually it's from the dullness of his sermons." I teased.

Everyone laughed and even Dago smiled.

"I want to thank you all for your gifts and kind words. Though I won't be sad to leave this God awful place or this God awful war, I am sad to be leaving behind the friends I have made. However, I don't leave until tomorrow, so let's spend the next few hours eating, drinking, and forgetting all about this damn war."

"Amen." Duke said, standing up and also draping his arm around Dago. "Sorry to steal your thunder there, Red. Must be the gift."

Dago laughed. "That's quite alright, I couldn't have said it better myself."

By 2 am most of the camp was well beyond the threshold of drunk and had gone straight into plastered. I had been nursing my drinks but feigning drunkenness, and noticed Dago hadn't drank at all. When I felt it was safe and most people were too drunk to notice, I wrapped my arm around his neck, drawing him close.

"Let's get out of here," I murmured against his ear. He nodded and we slipped out the door and straight over to his tent. Still feigning drunkenness, I kept my arm around him and leaned heavily on him. His arm was around my waist, helping to support me until we were safely inside his tent with the door latched. I pulled him to me and kissed him deeply, knowing this would be our last time together for the next year at the very least.

We frantically pulled at each other's clothes and didn't bother setting up the mattresses on the floor. I pushed him down on the cot, laying over him. There were tears in his eyes as I entered him, and I realized that my own face was wet as well.

There was so much to say…so much still to do. So much time that felt completely wasted that I could have been with him. I knew in the scheme of things that a year was nothing compared to having to say goodbye all together, but after tonight, Dago would have to come second to my wife. I think he knew that, and while he may have accepted it and understood it, I was sure it probably broke his heart…which ultimately broke mine. How was it possible to love two different people equally? How could you be married to one and not the other? How did you choose who came first and who came second? It wasn't fair; to him, to me, or to Mary.

We came together, clinging to one another as our small world shattered around us, leaving us in the cold, naked truth of reality: In less than 8 hours, I would leave this camp and never return. Dago was sobbing against my shoulder, his grip so tight on me it hurt. "Don't leave."

The words felt like a knife through my heart. I had completely broken him. As many times as he'd told me that we had no choice in the matter, that my leaving was necessary, that we would just keeping moving forward in life, looking to our next meeting, I hadn't realized just how much he'd been trying to convince himself as he was me. I couldn't bring myself to remind him of those things in that moment, so I simply held him as tight as I could and let him cry.

After a long while, Dago finally cried himself out and we simply remained holding one another. I could feel the catch of his diaphragm every time he took a breath, making him almost hiccup as he tried to breath normally. I propped myself up on my elbow beside him, looking down at him as I wiped his wet face and smoothed back his hair. His eyes were horribly red, his cheeks puffy and splotched. I leaned down and kissed his slightly chapped lips.

I wasn't about to ask if he was okay. I knew he wasn't.

"I'm sorry," he said hoarsely after I pulled back from the kiss.

"Don't be," I murmured. "I just wish I knew what to say."

"I'm not sure there is anything you can say, Hawkeye. I know you have to go, but I don't want you to."

"I know, baby." I rested my forehead on his and sighed deeply. "I feel the same way."

"I don't mean to make this harder on you than it has to be," he said softly, "but I feel like I'm losing my best friend on top of everything else we've shared."

"You're not losing me, Dago. I swear. I know it's going to be hard not seeing each other every day, but my leaving here doesn't mean I'm leaving you. Okay?"

He sniffed and nodded and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he absentmindedly fiddled with the beads of the bracelet around my wrist.

"Hey…" I waited until his eyes were meeting mine. "I love you."

He pulled me down into a tender kiss. "I love you, too, Ben."

I stayed with Dago as long as I could that night, wishing I could have stayed with him until it was time for me to go altogether, but knowing there was still someone else I needed to spend time with before my departure. He watched me sadly as I dressed, laying curled up on his side in his cot, not attempting to move.

"You better not leave without saying goodbye to me." He said seriously.

"Don't worry, baby…" I leaned down and kissed him, pulling the blanket up over him. "Nothing could stop me from leaving without saying goodbye to you first. Try and get some sleep, okay?"

"Yeah…okay." He said softly, both of us knowing he wouldn't.

I kissed him once again, lovingly and lingering just in case I didn't get the chance again, then forced myself to leave, returning to the swamp.

Trapper was sitting in his bunk moodily, but no one else was in the tent. He didn't look up as I entered, but he held out a can of beer to me. I took it and sat on my bunk to drink with him.

"Those new guys replacing you and Duke aren't gonna make it." Trapper said after a minute. "They're still too green. Take too much time in the OR."

"They'll be okay." I reassured. "We were all green when we got there. Just think…could be worse. Could be Frank Burns."

"Don't jinx me, Hawk." He said, gazing up at me.

"Listen, when you get back to Boston, call me up. I'll need a good caddie."

Trapper laughed softly. "If you're lucky I'll come visit."

"The door will always be open."

"I'm gonna miss ya, Hawkeye." He said seriously. "You've really made this less like Hell."

"Yeah…me too…" Even though I didn't care for Trapper the same way I cared for Dago, I still felt emotional about leaving him as well, and I looked down at the floor to hide the wetness in my eyes.

Morning came and we went to breakfast as usual. Dago looked marginally better than he had the night before and I figured he must have managed to fall asleep after I left. Most of the guys were asking me and Duke what we planned to do first, and the answer was a tossup between having a real drink and screwing our wives. After breakfast, Duke and I went to make sure we were packed before Radar and a few corpsmen carried our stuff out to a jeep waiting in the compound, then we went to Colonel Blake's office to retrieve our traveling orders and discharge papers and say our farewells to Henry.

"Pierce, Forrest…I'd like to say it's been a pleasure working with you two, but you boys have been a real thorn in my side since the moment you rolled into this camp. I can only hope your replacements will prove to be as good of surgeons as you've been. Having said that…it was still an honor to serve with you and I wish you all the best back home."

Duke and I shook Henry's hand, then stepped back and gave our commanding officer a real, bona fide military salute. Henry half saluted us and half threw his hand up in exasperation. "Oh just get outta here, will ya?"

Everyone was gathered around the compound, shaking our hands or giving us hugs and kisses as we made our way to the jeep. The swamp rats were the closest to the jeep and Dago was standing before the jeep, hand in the air, obviously praying over it for our safety. I smiled softly as we approached. We shook hands with Painless, Bandini, Ugly John, and the others and Duke reached up and high fived Dago as he was still praying. Dago laughed in the middle of his prayer, but quickly finished so that he could bid us farewell. He shook Duke's hand first.

"God bless you, Duke."

"Take care, Dago Redo."

Dago turned to me and I saw his breath hitch in his chest as he tried to smile. He held out his hand towards me, resigned to simply giving me a handshake in front of the entire camp, but I grabbed his hand and pulled him into a fierce hug. I could hear him laughing softly on the verge of tears. "Goodbye, Hawkeye."

I squeezed him tightly then pulled back and took an envelope from my pocket, handing it over to him. "My address and telephone number are written at the bottom. I'll write as soon as I can."

"God speed, Hawkeye." I could hear the unspoken words of love in his tone and I grabbed his face and pulled his head down to kiss his forehead before I released him and got behind the wheel of the jeep.

"So long, Korea!" I hollered as I cranked on the jeep and threw it into gear. We hauled ass out of the camp and I found myself saying aloud, "Don't look back."

The journey home was long and arduous. We first traveled by jeep to the Kempo airport, hopped the next plane to Tokyo, and then got stuck waiting for the next boat that would take us across the Pacific Ocean to Port Hueneme, California. From there, Duke and I would say our goodbyes and he would catch a plane to Georgia while I would catch one to Maine.

It took us a week just to get to the boat itself, we spent our time in the Officer's Clubs at the bases we stayed at, drinking until we couldn't stand up anymore and had to stumble our way back to the barracks. The bunks in the barracks had real mattresses, which we both found to be a luxury, but neither of us could manage to sleep well in after spending 2 years in a hard cot with a mattress that was flatter than a pancake. Duke ended up pulling his mattress to the floor and sleeping there.

My every thought was divided between Dago and Mary. I felt like I was tethered to both of them and being torn in half, as part of my heart had stayed with Dago and the other part was anxious to get home to Mary. I wondered how Dago was doing without me, but I knew he would be okay.

Three weeks on a boat felt like another life sentence, and Duke and I assumed false names to avoid getting volunteered for giving exams to the returning soldiers. The army was very aware of the problem of venereal disease and other STDs and every solider going home had to submit to an exam to get checked out to make sure they weren't infected. There was no way in hell I was going to spend three weeks looking at a hundred cocks.

Duke and I were standing at the bow of the boat with our duffle bags, smoking the last of our cigarettes as we watched the shores of home looming closer and closer. It was overwhelming to see land and know that it belonged to us. We were nearly there…

Getting through the line to get off the boat took about 2 hours, but then we were being bused to the airport.

"I can't believe we're almost there, Hawk." Duke said as we sat near the back of the bus.

"I know. I feel like this is all a horrible dream and I'm going to wake up any minute in my cot."

"Me too. What do you think they're all up to right now?"

"Probably celebrating the fact that we're gone."

"Nah…I think Trap and Dago are still probably getting' themselves real drunk. They seemed to take our leavin' the hardest."

I didn't say anything, mostly because I didn't want to think about Dago still being depressed.

When we were unloaded at the airport, Duke's plane was already being boarded for takeoff. Our farewell would have to be short.

"Listen, you take care now, y'hear?" Duke said emphatically, shaking my hand. "You give us a call and let us know when we're gettin' together again."

"Next summer." I reminded him. "So long, Duke."

"It's been a pleasure, Hawkeye."

"Finest kind."

He turned and headed for the plane and I watched him board, then headed to the lounge for a drink and to wait for my plane.

It was strange to be in a place where I didn't know anyone. I didn't know everyone in Korea, but I knew the people at the Double Natural. They were friends; they were family; they were now a world away. For the millionth time I wondered how Dago was holding up. I missed him. I reached into my front chest pocket and pulled out the photograph of us from the Christmas Party. He looked happy…I wanted to reach out and touch him through that picture, stroke his hair, kiss his lips, feel his body against mine, hear his laugh; hell, I'd even settle for hearing the exasperated way he said my name.

Would Mary ever understand the relationship Dago and I had? Would anyone? I didn't plan on making it public, but Crabapple Cove was a small town and everyone knew everyone else's business. If we did manage to keep it secret, it probably wouldn't stay secret very long. I wondered what might happen to him if the Church ever found out. I'd never thought to ask him, but it seemed like such an important question now. I knew he knew the risks, and he had been willing to take them obviously, but still I wondered…

"Flight 590 to Bangor, Maine." The PA system announced my flight and I settled my tab, finished my beer, then headed out to board the flight that would carry me home to Mary. I suddenly found myself very nervous. I knew I still loved my wife, but would I be thinking of Dago the whole time I was with Mary? Mary had never really crossed my mind during sex with Dago, nor had she entered my mind whenever I'd had sex with Becky…but Dago had. I felt sick and suddenly wished I hadn't had that drink. I tried to sleep on the flight, but couldn't, and all too soon we were touching down in Bangor.

I held my breath as I got up, grabbed my duffel bag, and headed down the steps to the tarmac. There were only a handful of us on the plane, and just as few people waiting to greet their parties behind the railings, so I immediately spotted Mary, Charlie, Tommy and my father Big Benji Peirce. My eyes filled with tears as they all waved at me. I ran to them, dropping my duffel and sweeping Mary up in my arms. We kissed and I knew I was home.

Charlie and Tommy were tugging at my jacket crying "Daddy! Daddy!" and it felt so good to hear their voices, to see their faces. I set Mary on her feet and hugged my boys almost as tightly as I'd hugged her. Christ, they'd both grown a foot or more. What had I missed…?

Finally, I faced my dad and held out my hand to greet him. "Pop."

"Don't you give me no handshake, boy," he said before he wrapped me in a bear hug, clapping me hard on the back. "Glad to have you back, son."

"It's good to be back," I told him as we pulled apart. "Who's hungry? I've been dying for some real food for 18 months."

That night, after we put the kids to bed, Mary and I spent several hours getting to know each other again. While I had thought about Dago once or twice when Mary was doing something I particularly enjoyed, the rest of the time he hadn't crossed my mind. Mary and I seemed to have no trouble in reconnecting, and even managed to do so a total of four times that night.

As we lay there after we were both thoroughly spent, with Mary's head on my chest, it seemed surreal that I was back home in my own bed, in my own house, with my own wife. I'd dreamed of this moment for so long…

"I love you," I murmured to her softly.

"What'd you do?" She asked, propping up on her elbow and looking at me.

"What?"

"You only say that when you've done something wrong."

"I haven't gotten the chance to say it to you in almost 2 years, is that not reason enough?"

"Hmm," she said, giving me a skeptical look before resting her head back on my chest.

It was in that moment that I found myself wanting to be with Dago. I wanted to hear his quiet 'me too' rather than Mary's sarcastic skepticism. I couldn't say as I blamed her, really… We'd known each other all our lives. She knew what she was getting when she married me, but the war had changed me. Dago had changed me.

I spent the first week at home enjoying my old routines—sitting on the back porch steps in the morning with a cup of coffee and a cigarette as I looked across the channel at my Dad's farm and his boat tied up in the wharf ready and waiting to be taken out. Mary would be inside, fussing with the kids as she tried to get them both ready for school and pack their lunches. After the bus came for the boys and they headed off to school, Mary and I would sneak away and make love in every room of the house. I tinkered with my car, went into the main part of town with my dad for lunch or to run an errand, then I'd go home and watch television and fall asleep on the couch.

On March 17th, I wrote to Dago and wished him a happy 42nd birthday, even though I knew he wouldn't get the letter for quite some time. I wrote about how the trip home had been hell but Duke and I had avoided being put on VD duty by going under false names. I filled him in on the things that had changed since I'd been gone and told him I was happy to be home, but it still felt strange. I also told him how much I missed him and that I thought about him often throughout the day. I wrote that I hadn't yet told Mary, but that I still planned to when the time was right.

By the time I'd finished the letter, it was practically a novel, but I shoved it into an envelope and addressed it to Fr. John P. Mulcahy at the 4077th MASH in Uijeongbu, South Korea.

After two and a half weeks, Mary finally asked me if I was ever going back to work, reminding me that I wasn't getting paid anymore by Uncle Sam and that there were mouths to feed. After promising her I would find work, I loaded up my golf clubs and drove to Spruce Springs a few miles away from Crabapple Cove to put in my application at the VA hospital and get in a round of golf.

Wendall Black, the Spruce Spring USVA's chief surgeon looked me over like I was something he'd rather not step in. "Well, I say your reputation precedes you, Dr. Pierce. Do you always apply for jobs dressed like that?"

I looked down at my pro-golf attire, wondering if I'd missed something or forgotten to zip my fly. "Are you not a golfer, sir?"

"We don't just _play_ doctor here, Pierce. We have real patients who require real surgeons to do real surgical procedures."

"Oh, good, I was worried we'd all just be sitting around playing pinnacle."

"I'll give you 2 weeks, Pierce. If you don't prove yourself a respectable surgeon in that time, you're outta here. Be back here at 8 o'clock tomorrow morning. Not a minute late."

Not only did I prove myself a respectable surgeon in that time, but I established myself as a force not to be reckoned with. Dr. Black hated my guts, but he knew I was his man when there was a tricky case and so we established a working rapport. As the middle of April rolled in, I was comfortable enough in my position as a surgeon at the VA, that I made sure to schedule tee times around my surgeries and vice versa.

Things at home were also good, but I still hadn't told Mary about Dago. It wasn't that I hadn't thought about it; quite the opposite, really… It was simply that I didn't know how to tell her. I wasn't sure how to preface something like that. "Hey, honey, how was your day? Did I tell you that I fucked our camp chaplain over in Korea? What's for dinner?"

I knew I needed to tell her and I was resolved to do it sooner rather than later. I owed it to her and to Dago.

One night after dinner, I was sitting on the porch drinking a beer while Mary put the kids in the bath, then put them down for the night. Though I still wasn't entirely sure how to tell her about Dago, I knew that tonight would be the night…

I heard the porch door creak open and close as Mary came out and sat beside me, offering me a fresh beer.

"They down?"

"Finally." She nodded. "I swear, if they end up as hardheaded as you, I'll kill them both. Or maybe just you."

I took a swig of beer, "Mary, there's something I need to talk to you about."

"Okay. There's something I need to talk to you about, too."

I looked at her, my eyebrows raised in surprise. Was she going to own up to an affair too? "Oh?"

"I know it's not good timing, you just getting home and all, but…well, I'm pregnant."

"What!" I nearly dropped my beer. "How? Who! How long have you known about this?"

She laughed at me. "'Who,' Hawkeye? Really? Who do you think, you big lug? _You._ Doggy Moore thinks I'm about a month along, which, I'll remind you is how long you've been home. We did have quite the night the day you got home, remember?"

She laid her head on my shoulder, drawing a seductive pattern over my chest as she grinned up at me. My mind was reeling with the news. Pregnant?

"You're upset." She said, pulling away and sticking out her bottom lip in a pout.

"Huh? No… not upset, no… Surprised, yes. Upset, no…. You're sure you're pregnant?"

"Well unless I'm going into very early menopause, and Doggy's gone exceptionally senile…"

"Pregnant….wow…." I scratched the back of my head. Her news completely trumped mine. There was no way I could tell her about Dago now...

"What were you going to say?" She asked, not having forgotten.

"Oh, it's nothing." I lied, wrapping my arm around her and feeling guilty. "Pregnant…think you'll get the girl you've always wanted this time?"

"If not we'll just try again." She grinned.

"No we won't," I told her, rubbing my nose against her. "I'm not going to end up like my parents with too many mouths to feed and too many heads to count."

She pouted again but leaned in to kiss me. "I'm going to go take a bath and read a book."

I nodded and waited for the screen door to close before I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. I had to tell Mary about Dago, but I couldn't do it now, and I knew Dago wouldn't come to visit until she knew. But by December, Mary would be big as a house which would certainly make Dago feel even more uncomfortable. I glared up towards the Heavens. "You really are a bastard."

By May, nothing had changed. I hadn't told Mary about Dago—I hadn't even heard from Dago—and I was still butting heads with Wendall Black at the VA. As much as I'd wanted to come home over the last 2 years…this was not the life I envisioned coming home to. As I was hitting balls on the practice range one afternoon, I was approached by Jocko Allcock, one of the orderlies at the VA.

"Hey, Hawkeye," the brute of a man said causally. I wasn't sure why he was there, or why he was speaking to me, but I was already in a less than cordial mood.

I eyed him for a second before adjusting my grip, "What the hell do you want?"

"Nothin'. Just wanta tell you. You're fired."

Shit. Mary would be thrilled with that news… Still, I managed to sound unconcerned. "Finestkind. I'm hitting the ball real good. Maybe I could go on tour."

Jocko seemed disappointed by my reaction. "I don't know nothin' about golf."

I suddenly lost the desire to practice my swing, and Jocko was still standing there expectantly, so I invited him up to the clubhouse for lunch. I definitely needed a drink…

As it turned out, I was fired because some rookie out of med school had applied for a surgical position, and Wendall had immediately thought of firing me, but had no reason to. For whatever reason, he always trusted Jocko's opinion on the matter and Jocko had offered to do the firing for me. Jocko, unbeknownst to me, had been gambling against me with the patients, and losing, which he didn't appreciate, but realized I wasn't a crackpot surgeon. He decided that I should go into private practice and that he should be my bookie, lining up patients and getting them to bet against me so that he could turn a quick buck when they pulled through.

"Look, you stupid son of a bitch," I told Jocko angrily, "you stay the hell away from me. You got me fired. If I go into private practice around here I don't need a screwball like you scaring the patients. It'll be hard enough to get started as it is, competing against the local barber surgeons."

As I sat there yelling at Jocko, I realized that private practice was going to be my only option if I didn't move out of Crabapple Cove. Even if I stayed, I wasn't sure I could convince any of the established doctors to send me some of their cases. I decided to visit Ralph Young, the doctor who had delivered me and all of my brothers, who was still practicing in Port Waldo, 20 miles from Spruce Harbor, for his advice and to see if he would send me any of his cases if I decided to go it on my own.

Ralph suggested I get the hell out of Crabapple Cove if I really wanted to make a living. He also suggested I get some training in thoracic care, as that was an area no one in Maine had much practice in. He said if I made it through the thoracic boards, and started up my own office, though, that he would send me everything he got.

I had a lot on my mind as I drove back home to Crabapple Cove. With Mary being pregnant, I didn't have the money to go through another residency, but at this point I really didn't know what choice I had.

Pulling onto Pierce Rd., aptly named because only the Pierce family had ever lived here, I saw a robin's-egg-blue Pontiac convertible in the driveway. "Who in the hell…" as I got closer, I saw the Massachusetts plate on the back. "I'll be goddamned…"

Immediately I knew that it was Trapper. I'd forgotten that Trapper was set to get out of the army shortly after Duke and I had, but I knew he couldn't have been home for more than a few weeks. I wondered what the hell he was doing here, but didn't care either way as I pulled up next to the empty car.

No one in Crabapple Cove ever locked their doors, so I wasn't surprised that Trapper had let himself in even though Mary and the boys were spending the day at my father's farm across the channel. I found him sitting on the back porch with a beer in hand.

"You ugly son of a bitch, who let you out of the army?" I said as I pushed open the screen door and stepped out to greet him. "How long have you been home?"

"Long enough to have caught up on sleep and gone to work for Maxie Neville." We hugged like brothers.

"It's good to see you, Trap. How was it after Duke and I booked it?"

"Quiet." Trapper said as I grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat with him on the porch. "We all kind of fell apart after you and Duke left. Painless and his gang stuck mostly to themselves, and Dago and I mostly sat around and drank. He actually started a garden outside his tent." Trapper laughed.

I smiled fondly, thinking of Dago mucking around in the dirt trying to give life to the soil. "Well, at least you're home now…but what the hell are you doing here?"

"I came to get you out of the clam flats. Maxie's got a heart case waiting at Saint Lombard's in New York and I told him you're one of the best surgeons there is. He wants you on the surgical team for the case, then he wants to give you a year of thoracic residency at some joint in Jersey where he's a consultant. Then, you're coming to work with us in Boston."

"Jeez, Trapper, you don't mean it. You and me and Maxie Neville?"

"Screw you. Stay here if you want to."

"I do want to, but I'll bite for two years of your deal. Enough to get through the thoracic boards. Then I'm coming right back here."

"Suit yourself," he shrugged.

I spent a week in New York with Trapper and Maxie. The surgery itself took less than 4 hours, so the rest of the time we ate, drank, and talked about the deal. Maxie would be glad to see me through the boards if I was half as good as Trapper had said, but if I screwed him over, he'd make sure no one would ever hire me again—private practice or not. I agreed, but made the concession that if I was going to be in Jersey, my family would be there with me. Jersey wasn't as far as Korea, but I didn't think Mary could handle another 2 year separation…and neither could I. We shook on the deal and agreed that I would start my residency in July, which would give us ample time to pack up and move. Maxie assured me that the VA hospital in Jersey where I'd be working would find us a nice play to live.

With that settled, the only thing left was to tell Mary and the kids…

"It's a paying job, right?" Mary asked, obviously not thrilled.

"Yes, Mary. And they're furnishing us a place to live. It's only 2 years."

"Only 2 years?" She threw up her hands in exasperation. "You've been 'only 2 years'-ing me since you started medical school, Hawkeye! Not to mention you just spent 2 years in Korea!"

"Listen, honey, that's why I told them I would only agree if you and the kids could be there too. I promise, two years, then we'll be back home in our house with our 3 beautiful children—all boys."

"This one is not going to be a boy, Hawkeye Pierce." She glared at me, holding her stomach as if shielding the fetus within from harm. "Fine…but so help me, Hawkeye, if you ever use the words 'it's only 2 years' again, I'll kill you!"

"I promise, never again." I kissed her, though she looked skeptical.

"A letter came for you while you were in New York, by the way."

"Yeah? Did it look important?"

"It was postmarked Korea."

My heart skipped a beat. "Where is it?"

"Where do I usually put your mail after I read it?" She replied unhelpfully.

"You read it?"

"I read everything you get."

I felt my stomach knot, hoping the letter hadn't said anything incriminating, and hurried off to the basket where she put my mail. I found it on top and immediately recognized Dago's neat handwriting on the envelope. I sat on the couch and pulled out the folded papers within, grinning widely as I saw that he had written the letter in Runes. Clever, clever Dago…

"What is that gibberish anyways?" Mary asked as she stood in the doorway to the kitchen, her tone implying she was disappointed by not having been able to decipher it.

"It's Ancient Runes," I informed her. "I told you I'd befriended the chaplain? He taught it to me. I guess this is a test to see if I actually learned anything from it."

Mary quickly lost interest and went back into the kitchen to fuss over dinner as I read Dago's letter.

_Dear Hawkeye,_

_First, thank you for the note and photographs you left with me on that last day. I have to confess that I read it every night before I go to bed. Secondly, thank you for the birthday greeting. I'm pleased that you remembered, though I didn't get your letter until nearly a month later._

_I am grateful that you and Duke arrived home safely, but you have my sincere condolences for the length of time it took to get there. I personally find the traveling between destinations to be exciting—flying in particular. I wouldn't mind learning to pilot a plane some day. Then maybe I could really be a sky pilot._

I laughed out loud at his joke and continued reading.

_Trapper has since left us and is on his way home as I write—though by the time you receive this you'll probably have already spoken to him. I must say, you were certainly the glue that held the friendships of this camp together. After you left, life went back to the way it was before you'd arrived. Everyone is still friendly, of course, but no one goes out of their way to include me in anything anymore. It's fine though. I've taken up the hobby of growing vegetables in the space outside my tent. The cook has asked to buy them off of me and I readily agreed, knowing that I would profit two-fold: tastier meals, and money to give to the orphanage._

_I have also been corresponding regularly with Tseten again. He is planning a pilgrimage to Lumbini, Nepal, which is the birth place of Siddhartha Gautama: The Buddha. He has invited me to go, but he is planning to make the journey next year around the time of The Buddha's birth, which would be between April and May. I have sincere hopes to be stateside by that time, but I haven't ruled out the possibility._

_All-in-all I have managed to endure your absence in a fairly positive manner. I miss you terribly, but being apart from you has shown me that absence truly does make the heart grow fonder. I think I love and appreciate you more now that you're not here… Not to mention I certainly get my work done more efficiently, which I'm sure God is grateful for._

_I sincerely hope that you are settling comfortably back into your life at home. Please write to me and keep me updated on your current events as time allows and I shall do the same._

_With great affection,_

_Dago_

_P.S. By the time you receive this letter it will be somewhere around your own birthday. Happy 37th Birthday, Hawkeye._

I smiled as I folded the letter, glad to hear that he was managing on his own. I was saddened to hear that the others had stopped including him in their activities, but I was willing to bet that Dago had really ever only joined in for my sake.

What he'd said about Tseten's invitation seemed like a good way to break the news to him about Mary's pregnancy, my residency in Jersey, and the fact that our relationship had become a little more complicated. I moved over to the desk and took out a pen and paper to write my reply to him.

_Dago,_

_Why didn't you start growing a garden when I was there? Did it ever occur to you I might have liked better tasting meals too? I'm quite disappointed, Dago. Really, how completely selfish of you._

_I think you should stay and join Tseten on his pilgrimage. You never know when you might see him again. Besides, what's a few more months, right? It's funny his invitation should come around that time as things here have become a little more complicated than I ever intended._

_Mary's pregnant. I'm going to be a father again. It couldn't have come at a worse time, really, as I was fired from the VA hospital in Spruce Springs, but oddly enough that very day Trapper John showed up on my doorstep with an offer from his boss to take a residency position at a VA in New Jersey. That means moving away from here for 2 years and taking Mary and the kids with me. It also means that my plan to have you here with me over Christmas may not happen as the baby will be due around that time. The day I planned to finally tell her about us was the day she dropped the news of the baby in my lap. Why is my life always such a mess?_

_I'm still planning on having everyone here next summer, but that seems so damn far away. It was easier leaving you knowing I'd see you in December. I hope you're not upset by the news. We don't leave for New Jersey until July, so the kids will be able to enjoy the summer out here and on Dad's farm across the channel. I don't have an address yet of where you can write to me in Jersey, but if all else fails: just send your letters here. Dad will be watching the house and collecting any mail that comes._

_I miss you, John._

_Hawkeye_

On the morning of July first, I loaded the car with our suitcases and a few boxes of things that Mary couldn't find it within herself to part with, then we loaded up the car and headed for New Jersey to move into our new temporary home.

If being in New Jersey wasn't bad enough, the housing they had secured for us was almost a deal breaker. The apartment complex was large and run down looking and nothing was appropriately marked or labeled. Mary gave me 'the look' as we pulled into a spot and looked at the building that—somewhere inside—housed our new apartment.

"Wait here." I told her and the boys as I got out and went to find the manager's office for a key.

The manager, Mr. Waller, was a short fat, balding man with a large bristly mustache. He looked very much like a walrus, and had about as much personality. "You the doc for the VA?"

"Yes, sir, that's me. Hawkeye Pie—"

"Apartment 523. The hospital's covering your rent. Make sure they pay it by the 5th of every month. No exceptions." He handed me the key and slammed his door in my face.

"Pleasant fellow." I grumbled before heading back out to get Mary and the boys.

The apartment was small at best, but did have two furnished bedrooms, a couch and chair in the living room, and a beat up table in the kitchen. I heard Mary sigh next to me.

"Is it too late to change my mind?" She asked.

We spent the first day unpacking and trying to make the place our own as much as possible, but Mary and I both felt like this would be the longest 2 years of our lives.

"Could be worse," I offered. "Could be Korea."

By the end of July I had established myself as a capable surgeon at the VA hospital, even though the chief surgeon—Jimmy Gargan—was on my ass about everything I did, including the way I put on my surgical gown. I tolerated his criticism as best as I could, just counting the days until my time here was served, and doing what I could to learn about thoracic surgery.

On July 28th the papers announced that a treaty had been signed on the 27th of July that had ended the Korean Conflict and the soldiers would start coming home. I nearly choked on my coffee as I read the headline, and immediately my mind was on Dago. He still had about 4 months of service left before his commission was up so I wondered where he would go and what he would do, but I had no way of finding out. After my last letter to him in May I hadn't heard from Dago again. We hadn't been home to Crabapple Cove yet, but Dad—whom I called every Sunday—hadn't mentioned any mail coming to the house. I realized that after we'd gotten settled in, I hadn't written to Dago with our new address.

I felt completely sick. Unless Dago wrote to me, I would have no way of contacting him again. Before I realized it, I had broken down into sobs at the thought of never seeing Dago again.

"Hawkeye…what on earth…?" Mary was absolutely flabbergasted by the sight of my tears, never having seen me cry her entire life.

I wanted to tell her what was wrong with me, but how could I without telling her everything? I'd taken her away from our home and moved her to this squalid neighborhood during her pregnancy, made her sacrifice yet again for my career…I couldn't tell her that all this time I had been in love with another man. She really would kill me. I felt like the worst kind of person, the worst kind of husband, and my distress over it all just made me feel even sicker.

"Boys, go to your room and play." Mary said before she leaned over and put her hand on my shoulder. "Hawkeye, talk to me. You're scaring me."

"Oh, Mary…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." I sobbed.

"For what? Crying? I'll forgive you if you cut it out."

"No…oh, Christ…there's something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you a long time ago."

She pulled back stiffly. "Is it another woman? It is, isn't it?"

I couldn't help myself… I laughed. "No…it's not another woman."

"Then what is it?"

"God… I don't know where to start or how to tell you…" I pulled out my handkerchief and blew my nose. "It's just so…crazy."

"Well, you've got an hour before you've got to be at the hospital. Why don't you start at the beginning?"

I wasn't sure an hour was going to be enough time, but I did my best… "You know I told you I became friends with Dago Red, the chaplain?"

She nodded.

"There's…Christ…there's a little bit more to it than just friendship." I watched her brow crinkle in confusion. "He…he and I became involved. Intimately."

I watched the realization dawn on her face and she looked—expectedly—horrified. "Oh my God! Hawkeye! A man? A PRIEST! Are you out of your mind!"

Mary was yelling now and punching me in the shoulder. "Look, we didn't plan for it to happen, but it did."

"How many times? Once? Twice?" When I gave her a sheepish look she looked disgusted.

"Look, baby, I wanted to tell you sooner and really explain how it happened, but…fuck…it's more than just sex, Mary."

"What do you mean 'more than sex?' What else could there possibly be?"

"I love him."

The words had shocked her and she was shaking as she covered her mouth.

"That doesn't mean I love him more than I love you or that I want to leave you for him, but…I love him the same way I love you, Mary."

"Stop talking to me, right now." She wasn't looking at me. "I don't know what you expected me to say about this, Hawkeye. Of all the foolish, thoughtless things you could have possibly done..."

"I never intended for this happen, Mary." I told her apologetically, reaching out to touch her, but she slapped my hand away.

"So, are you…"

"A fairy?" I supplied. "No. And I don't intend to leave you and the boys for Dago."

"Yeah? Well, what if I leave you instead? Would you go to him?"

The thought of her leaving made my stomach knot. "I don't know what I'd do without you," I told her honestly.

"I think you should leave now, Hawkeye." She said stiffly.

"Should I sleep at the hospital tonight?" I asked glumly.

"I'm not sure yet." She crossed her arms. "I'm very angry with you right now. If you come home tonight and I throw a pot at your head, you'll know you're not welcome here yet."

I nodded. "I'm sorry, Mary."

"Just go." She said, still not looking at me.

I left, feeling miserable. My mood didn't improve throughout the day as I was distracted between never seeing or hearing from Dago again and losing my wife. I wondered why Dago hadn't written me. Had my news upset him, given him second thoughts about trying to pursue our relationship beyond the war?

By the time my shift had ended, I wasn't sure I wanted to go home. I wasn't sure how Mary would feel. I hadn't told her everything, I hadn't admitted that I still wanted Dago to be a part of my life, I hadn't even told her why I'd been so upset, but I suppose in the grand scheme those things wouldn't have been fair to lay on her all at once. An affair with another man was earth-shattering enough…

I sat out in my car for almost half an hour while I debated whether or not to go up. I took the stairs to eke out a few more seconds before I had to face the music. Then, with hesitancy, I turned my key in the lock and carefully pushed the door open, waiting for a pot to be hurled my way. Mary was sitting on the couch, arms crossed, looking at me with a stoic expression.

"Get in here and close the door," she told me sternly. "The boys are down the hall with Mrs. Pennington, so that you and I can talk about this."

I loosened my tie and unbuttoned the top of my collar as I sat down next to Mary with my head hanging low.

"You say you love him," she said with some effort. "How serious is it, exactly?"

"You know me, Mary, how often have I ever said I loved you, much less anyone else."

"So, pretty serious then." She sighed. "Alright…tell me about him."

I looked at her, my brow knitting in confusion. "What?"

"I think I have a right to know what kind of person he is." She said crossing her arms over her chest. "You can start by telling me his real name."

I was blown away that she was asking me about him, but thrilled all at the same time. "I'll do more than that…wait here."

I went to the bedroom and retrieved the picture of Dago and I that I kept in an old cigar box with other mementos. I brought it back to her and gave it to her.

"That's him?"

"That's him."

"Darn…I was hoping he'd be ugly." She said in a sad voice, but I knew her well enough to know she was teasing. "So, tell me about him before I change my mind and throw you out."

"His name is John Patrick Mulcahy…" I said, taking the picture back and looking at it briefly before I put it in my shirt pocket and telling Mary everything I knew about Dago. I told her how I'd suddenly found myself completely enthralled with him, how I had fantasized about being with him, and then that first kiss in the shower. I told her how we had struggled in our relationship knowing that I'd be leaving and coming home and that what we had couldn't continue after Korea, but how we'd still managed to fall in love. I told her how I'd fantasized about dividing my time between her and Dago, about the threesomes I'd imagined with her and Dago, and about how I still wanted him to be a part of my life, but how—after reading the morning paper and seeing that the war had ended—now I had no way of contacting him unless he contacted me first.

Mary shook her head as I finished and took a deep breath. "Only you could have a story like that and it be true, Hawkeye."

"Are you angry?"

"Are you crazy? Yes, I'm angry! Up until you went off to war I had you all to myself; I never had to worry about you falling in love with anyone else. When you went to Korea, I was worried you might meet someone, but I never dreamed it would be another man… I need some time to think about all of this, Hawkeye."

"Do you still love me?"

"Of course I do, you idiot. I just have to figure out how to love this new information as well."

I wrapped my arms around her, hugging her tightly and she reluctantly hugged me back. I knew that it would take Mary some time to come to terms with my relationship with Dago, and I expected she would ask me questions on her own time, but ultimately I felt that we would be okay. Overall, I was glad I had told her. I knew if I'd been married to anyone other than Mary, I'd probably be dead or homeless by now, but Mary always took things in stride. I knew there was a reason I fell in love with her.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulcahy's POV.

I watched the jeep drive away until it was little more than a cloud of dust. I felt an arm slip around my shoulder and looked over to see Trapper, his eyes fixed on the dust trail as well.

"Come on, Red, I've got a couple of beers with our names on 'em."

I let Trapper lead me over to the Swamp, looking back over my shoulder and half expecting to see the jeep coming back just for one more gag, but the dust was starting to settle. He was gone. I forced myself not to cry as Trapper handed me a beer. I automatically went to sit on Hawkeye's empty cot, but hesitated for a moment. It was stripped bare, the shelf empty, the area around it spotless. There was no trace that Hawkeye Pierce had ever occupied this tent.

"Mud in your eye," Trapper said behind me as he slurped his beer.

I finally sat down on the cot and took a drink of the beer in my hand as I tucked the envelope Hawkeye had given me into my jacket pocket.

"What is that?" Trapper asked.

"Hawkeye's information," I answered, not knowing any more than that myself. "His address and telephone number so that I know where to find him when we all meet up next summer."

"What do you plan on doing after you get outta here, Dago?"

"I'm not sure yet. I've thought about going back to being a missionary, but maybe I'll take some time just for myself."

"That's a good idea. Maybe I should do that too."

Trapper and I talked for quite some time, which helped to take my mind off the fact that Hawkeye had just driven right out of my life for God knew how long. When Trapper was due for post-op duty, I went back to my tent, sitting at my desk as I took the envelope from my pocket and took a deep breath before opening it.

Inside the envelope were two sheets of paper, and folded in the middle of the pages were several black and white photographs. The top one was of myself and Hawkeye. I recognized it immediately as being from the party on Christmas Eve. I studied his handsome face for a long minute until my heart began to hurt with longing, then I flipped to another picture.

This one was a group shot of several personnel with Trapper dressed as Jesus. It really was an uncanny resemblance, but my eyes were drawn to myself and Hawkeye once again. I hadn't been expecting him to draw me into the picture, and as such I was standing more in front of him than next to him, with his arm slung around my neck and hooked across the front of my chest. He was grinning in typical Hawkeye fashion.

I laughed softly, and flipped to the last picture in the series: one of me, Hawkeye, Trapper, Duke, Spearchucker, Painless, Bandini and Ugly John. In this picture I was sandwiched between Trapper and Hawkeye. Hawkeye was holding bunny ears up over my head and not a one of them had a straight face, except for me, smiling as I always did for photographs. I laughed, shaking my head and put them all aside, making sure to leave the one of just me and Hawkeye on top, then I picked up the letter and began to read.

_Dago,_

_Just a few days now and I'll be going home. It feels like there's still so much I want to say but I don't know where to begin. I don't want this letter to get too sentimental, so let me get all that crap out of the way first…_

_Being with you the last few months has really been something. When I was with you, I felt like we were the only people in the world. You made this war bearable for me. I know I probably rubbed off on you in some bad ways—getting you to smoke and drink and get high, but I hope you at least had fun. Not everything in life has to be viewed from a Heaven or Hell point of view, so just keep that in mind._

_You're truly one of a kind, Dago. You're the most selfless person I know and I admire you greatly. As much as I hate to admit it, I think some of your goodness has rubbed off on me. While I'm still not ready to become a card carrying member of the Jesus Christ fan club, you've given me a lot to consider about where I stand with God._

_One of my favorite memories of Korea will always be the day we spent at the river. I want to remember the way you looked that day forever—relaxed, casual, the real John. You weren't hiding behind your title that day, you were just being you. I remember what you told me about lacking confidence in yourself, but I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. Yeah, you used to be a little unsure, shy, reserved, quiet, naïve, but when you stopped being so self-conscious you became bold, mischievous, daring…you have the confidence you admire in others, John. You just have to stop worrying about what others think of you._

_I know that neither of us ever dreamed that something like this relationship would ever happen, but I'm glad it did. I'm glad I met you. While life will never be the same for us after Korea, I know that I'm going to love you for the rest of my life. You're so much more to me than just a friend or a lover. If that makes you my soul mate, then so be it. I don't know what that means for us, but maybe someday we'll find out._

_I think mostly I just want to thank you. For everything. Words really can't describe the way I feel about you._

_Well, here I said I wasn't going to make this letter all sentimental and now I don't have anything witty to say. Wouldn't that figure…Ah, well, just don't hold it against me later._

_I love you, John._

_Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce_

_21 Pierce Road_

_Crabapple Cove, ME 04476_

_HOpkins 3-5579_

His words made me smile, even as my eyes watered. I was glad I'd had such a profound impact on his life, as he had certainly had a profound impact on mine. As much as I knew I was going to miss him, I somehow felt alright after reading his letter. I had to keep telling myself this wasn't "goodbye" so much as it was just a prolonged "see you later."

As the weather started to grow warm again, I decided to be more productive around the camp than I had been when Hawkeye was here. While I had still done my duties, I had been more focused on my time with Hawkeye than anything else. I'd become a chaplain for a reason, and Hawkeye had distracted me from that.

I started a small vegetable garden outside my tent, mainly to see if I could grow anything in the unyielding soil, and to my surprise, I quickly began to see the signs of life popping up from the dirt. I also began to be more diligent about visiting with the wounded in post-op, as well as going around to visit some of the locals I had met when I'd first arrived in Korea. I spent more time with the orphans and Sister Theresa, visiting them several times a week when it was possible.

While I thought of Hawkeye often, the only times I truly missed him were when I was alone in my tent at night, wishing he was next to me. I missed the sex, of course, but mostly I missed the companionship. Being able to talk to him, to share in each other's thoughts and hopes and dreams, to talk about our pasts…I'd never had that type of connection with anyone before, not even Danny, who—until Hawkeye—I had always considered my best friend.

When Trapper received his orders to go home, the loss was felt, but not as deeply as with Hawkeye. There wasn't as much of a fanfare for Trapper's leaving, but I presented him with a gift the same as I had done with Duke and Hawkeye. My gift to Trapper was a bottle of cognac. Again, I hadn't come by it easily, but I knew if anyone would appreciate such a parting gift, it would be Trapper. He'd surprised me when he pulled me into a tight embrace, actually lifting me up off my feet as he crushed me in his arms.

"I'm actually going to miss you, Dago Red." He said as he set me back down on my feet. "When Hawkeye said he wanted us to be friends with you, we all thought he'd slipped his noodle, but you turned out to be pretty okay. I guess I'll be seeing you next summer. Stay out of trouble, will ya?"

"So long, Trapper. God bless you."

With the three Swamp men gone for good, the 4077th became an entirely different place. There were no more pranks or wild parties. The camp was truly regular army again.

As we began to roll from spring to summer, there was a tension in the camp that you could cut with a knife. The front lines had shifted again, this time bringing the enemy so close to the camp that we could smell the gun powder. We were on high alert, all ready for a bug out at any given moment. We became home to not only wounded, but also to several nearby units that had been forced to relocate.

One hot day in June, a squad of infantry men had wandered into camp with three North Korean POW's, demanding that we lock them up until they could be taken into custody by the MP's. I was outraged when Colonel Blake actually allowed a pen to be built to hold the three men.

"Colonel, these are human beings! You can't just cage them up like animals out in the heat like this! They have no shade, no water…this is cruelty!"

"Padre, we don't have a choice. We're not equipped to handle POW's and this is the best solution I have for now."

"Then put them in a tent somewhere under guard!" I argued.

"I d-don't have t-time to argue with you, D-Dago!" Henry stuttered, his face turning purple in anger. "I'm w-waiting for orders from HQ to see if we've got to b-bug out!"

I sighed in exasperation, storming out of his office. The POW's were in their cage, circling around the inside as if looking for any weakness in the structure where they could escape. I watched them for several moments, still angry at the situation, and reminded of my own imprisonment. If I couldn't free them and couldn't convince Colonel Blake to move them inside somewhere, the least I could do was watch over them and make sure they received water, food, and fair treatment.

I filled a canteen with water and took it over to the pen, but just as I was about to open the door to pass it through, one of the infantry soldiers rushed over, screaming at me.

"What do you think you're doing!" He bellowed as he knocked the canteen out of my hand and shoved me back from the pen so hard that I couldn't keep my balance.

"HEY!" Painless' voice yelled out and I saw him, Bandini, Boone and Ugly John rushing at the solider. "Don't you touch him!"

The four of them were on the solider in seconds, and soon after that, the soldier's squad joined in and it became an all-out brawl. Radar grabbed my arm and was pulling me to my feet as Henry rushed out trying to restore order. No one seemed to be listening to his yells for everyone to stop fighting, so he pulled out his pistol and fired a shot into the air.

The fight came to an abrupt halt and we were ordered to bug out.

Things didn't quiet down after that. When we'd returned to camp 2 days after the bug out was ordered, we found the tent frames on fire, or already completely burned to the ground. The OR building was untouched, surprisingly, but everything else was a mess. Henry and I stood there, looking at the devastation of what we'd built for several long moments. While I was thankful no lives were lost, it was still a scar on my heart. This place had been my home for several years, and it had been destroyed by hate. It took almost a week to rebuild the camp, but we were fortunate enough to be spared any wounded while we built it back up.

Radar, who was the only son of a farmer who had passed away when he was a young boy, received the next batch of bad news. It seemed that his uncle Ed had suffered a fatal heart attack, leaving the care of the family farm solely to his mother. Under the condition of family loss, Radar was honorably discharged from the army. Saying goodbye to him was a sobering affair. I couldn't imagine what the 4077th would be like without him, or how Colonel Blake would manage without his clairvoyant company clerk.

"God bless you, Radar," I told him as we said our goodbyes.

"You know, Father, you've been such a swell guy. I'm really going to miss you."

"I'll miss you too, Radar."

"Do you think…well…you know, if I ever meet someone and decide to get married or something…do you think it'd be okay if you married us? I mean…since I'm not a Catholic and all."

"Radar, when that day comes, it would be an honor."

"I'll be sure to ask Captain Pierce where I can find you," Radar said, shaking my hand vigorously.

The comment struck me as odd, but I laughed at his excitement either way and bid him farewell.

The mail had been another unfortunate casualty of war, as HQ ordered that all postal routes be stopped until further notice. That meant that any written correspondence would neither be coming in nor going out of the camp. I knew I hadn't received mail from Hawkeye since April, when he'd written to wish me happy birthday and let me know that he and Duke had made it home. I was sad to think that if he'd written me again since then, that it was stuck somewhere in a pile sitting at HQ. I was also sad that I was unable to write to him and tell him about the recent events, but I did journal about them in case he ever wanted to read about it.

It was the middle of July before the post started to run again, and—sure enough—I had a few letters that were postmarked in May. One was from Tseten, the other from Hawkeye. I opened Hawkeye's letter first.

The news of his wife's pregnancy had surprised me, and my first emotion was actually jealousy. I was jealous that he had wasted no time in making love to his wife. I immediately felt guilty and chided myself. Of course he'd wasted no time in making love to her…he hadn't seen her in two years and they were married. Still, I couldn't help but feel a little saddened by the news, and more so by the fact that he was basically telling me not to bother coming home because he wouldn't have time for me anyways.

While I knew his intent was not cruel, I still couldn't help but feel upset. We'd made no promises about seeing each other at Christmas, but I'd still had hopes that we would. Now I felt truly lost. I would leave the army in November and I would have nowhere to go. Even if I stayed in Asia until April when I saw Tseten again, where would I go? What would I do?

I couldn't even really write to Hawkeye now as he would be in New Jersey starting his residency and I didn't have an address to send the correspondence to. I felt frustrated and abandoned, no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise. I knew he loved me, even if it hadn't said so in his letter, but the thought that this was the beginning of the end nagged me at the back of my mind. I knew there was nothing I could do…I had to let it go and just let things happen as they would.

Not but a couple of weeks later, peace was declared in Korea and the fighting was finally over. The first order of business, after we all celebrated of course, was to evacuate the wounded. Some were well enough to be given their orders for home, others would have to go to Seoul until they were well enough to travel. When the last of the wounded was transferred out, next came the task of breaking down the camp and packing our belongings.

Those of us whose commissions were still in effect would return to HQ for new assignments or leave; mine would come through the Military Vicar's Office, but seeing as how I had no real reason to return to the states, I decided to pass up the opportunity for leave. Those who weren't commissioned—like Spearchucker, Boone and Bandini—were released from service and given their orders home.

Painless and I stood in the middle of the camp as the three of them loaded up in a truck with several others draftees, watching and waving them off.

"I'm happy the war's over," Painless said, "But I feel like I'm at a funeral, Dago."

"I know what you mean."

The probability that we would all meet up again was slim. It was hard to forge friendships during war and have them last very long afterwards. We came from all over America, and when we went home, we would be enveloped back into our old lives. Soon, these friendships would fade into just a distant memory, a legend we would tell about our time in a little place called Korea.

When I finally found myself at the Military Vicar's Office at HQ two weeks after the end of the war, I wasn't surprised to see that I wasn't the only chaplain waiting for orders. The end of the war had the army scrambling to figure out what to do with all of us, which also didn't surprise me… I was sent over to one of the barracks with the other chaplains and told it would take up to a week before they had everything worked out, but that suited me just fine. A little downtime was appreciated.

The barracks weren't too full, but I found myself not really wanting to be around anyone at the moment, so I wandered towards the end of the row of bunks. I spotted a man with his back turned to me and a shock of white blonde hair. My heart skipped a beat.

"Danny?"

The man stiffened slightly and slowly turned his head until his hazel eyes were meeting mine. His face almost crumpled as he saw me, and he choked out a broken, "Dago?"

Danny flew off the bed and into my arms, crushing me so tightly in his embrace that I thought my ribs would break.

"My God…" he breathed. "Is it really you?"

He seemed bigger, stronger than I remembered, far more rugged looking than he had before the war. In that moment, I forgot all the wrongs he had done to me, all the abuse and heartache…I was simply glad he was alive. "Oh, Danny, it's so good to see you."

He pulled back and put his hands on my face. I worried for a moment that he was going to try and kiss me, but he simply looked at me with a heart wrenching sadness in his eyes. "Can you ever forgive me, Dago? The way I treated you…I was a monster. I'm so very sorry."

I pulled Danny back into my arms, hugging him as tightly as he'd hugged me. How good it felt to hear those words. "Of course I forgive you."

He pulled back, grinning widely at me. "Here, come take this bed next to mine." He picked up my bags where I'd dropped them on the floor, and moved them to the empty bunk. "I can't believe it's been three years…I can't believe you're really here."

He turned, looking at me again for a long moment, the happy smile still on his face. Danny looked…grown up. Even though we'd been in our late 30s when we'd gone through chaplain school, I'd always considered him to be little more than a boy. The war had changed us all, but I wondered if maybe it hadn't helped mature him a little.

"I have thought about this moment every day since the last day I saw you," he continued. "I wondered when we'd see each other again, how it might go, if you'd even speak to me."

I wasn't sure what to say as we looked at each other, but I somehow felt like I had found my friend again and I smiled at him. "You may have been a real jerk, Danny, but you've always been my friend."

He dragged me back into his arms, holding me tightly again. "God, I missed you, Dago."

He released me and we sat on our respective bunks as I pulled out my cigarettes and lighter from my duffle. Danny looked at me oddly, but took one from the pack as I offered it to him.

We talked about our units, the friends we'd made, and basically what we'd done here. Danny, being in the infantry division, had seen quite a few battles and had even killed several enemy soldiers. He told me that he never thought he'd actually be able to pull the trigger when the time came, but that when you're faced with something like that, it's either you or them. He said he never enjoyed killing, and that he prayed for their souls and for God to forgive him, but after a while, he'd stopped seeing them as people.

"You have to," he said in a strange voice. "You can't let yourself think about their lives, their families…otherwise you hesitate and they kill you."

"I never saw much fighting," I admitted quietly, "But it was enough to witness the aftermath of it. The amount of bodies that poured through our camp…"

Danny moved over to my bunk and took my hand in his, "At least it's over now, and we've found each other again."

His hand felt strange, yet familiar, and not completely unwelcome. I found my fingers tightening around his, seeking out the comfort in his touch. It immediately made me think about Hawkeye, making me miss him all over again and yearn for his touch…

"Where do you think they'll send us now?" Danny was asking me as he stroked the back of my hand and leaned his head against my shoulder.

"I don't know," I answered, allowing myself to rest my head on his. This felt the way it had in seminary before he'd lost control of himself. Though I didn't love him, his presence was a great comfort to me, and I was glad I could be close to him.

Danny and I spent much of that first afternoon and night talking about what we planned to do after November came and we were released from the army. Danny told me that while he planned to return to North Carolina, he was considering leaving the priesthood. As confusing as Danny's decision to become a priest was, I was still surprised by this news.

"What? Why?" I asked, lifting my head from the pillow and looking across the small space between our bunks at him.

"Come on, Dago, you really can't guess?" He paused, giving me a minute to think about it. "I'm a Nancy, a fairy, a homosexual…whatever you want to call it. I've always been, but being over here really put things in perspective for me and I know that I can never really be who I am so long as I have to answer to the church. I just don't know what the hell I'd do, you know?"

"How do you know you're…homosexual?" I asked as my conversation with Sidney floated around my mind.

"Even you're not that naïve, Dago. I'm attracted to men. That's a pretty good indicator in and of itself, but…mainly…I want to screw guys. As you well know, the Bible has a lot to say on that subject, and none of it good."

"Did you…with anyone over here?"

He sighed softly. "Yeah. There was this kid from Omaha. He was only 17… scared to death of being here and fighting. I was trying to comfort him one night and one thing led to another and I ended up screwing him. Day after that he stepped on a mine and lost his leg, and got sent home. He was the only one though."

"I'm sorry," I said gently, more for the boy who lost his leg than anything else.

Danny moved out of his bed and slid into mine, laying on top of me. I opened my mouth to protest, to tell him to get off of me, but my body was responding automatically. I could feel myself growing erect beneath him, feel the pulse of arousal in my groin. He bent his head and kissed me. In the darkness I could almost imagine that he was Hawkeye, and it made me want him desperately.

I surprised him by taking the initiative and pushing his pajama pants down his hips, reaching between us and taking hold of him. "Looks like you missed me, too." He said with a smirk, misinterpreting my fervor, before he pulled my own pants down. I licked my palm and rubbed it over the head of his penis before he roughly pushed into me. He knew me well enough to press his hand over my mouth to stifle my cry. It had been long enough between my last time with Hawkeye and now that his entry caused me pain, making my eyes sting with tears.

Danny was just as rough as I remembered, but I let my mind believe that I was with Hawkeye instead and I had no trouble reaching my peak. Danny was groaning softly above me as he continued thrusting into me and I purposefully clenched my muscles around him, making him swear before he finished inside of me.

He laughed softly, "I get the feeling I'm not the only one who's fooled around over here."

I blushed deeply and pushed Danny off of me gently, but not out of my bed. He was surprised, again, but just smirked knowingly at me, convinced he was right. I found myself telling Danny everything about Hawkeye—how I'd fallen in love with him, how he loved me too, but how he was married with 2 children and one on the way.

Danny rested his head against mine, "You know, you could save yourself a lot of heartache and just settle for me, Dago. I'm not married and I don't have kids, but I do love you."

"I know you do," I sighed, not able to tell him I didn't feel the same way.

When we finally got our orders a week later, Danny made me promise to consider his offer of being with him. He told me to look for him in Raleigh when we got out of the army, and I told him I would. He kissed me goodbye, then headed off to catch his transport to Kempo, where he would then fly to the Philippines.

I was sent to Vietnam to serve as the chaplain for the U.S. military advisors currently occupying the territory. When I made it to the outpost where I was stationed, I felt like the new kid in town. Being a priest affords me some protection against bullying, but the men at this outpost had been sent here to train Vietnamese soldiers and I doubted that a one of them had the fear of God in him. I knew right away that I would just be biding my time until November.

I decided to write to Hawkeye's address in Crabapple Cove, not sure when he'd get it, but hoping to at least give him some idea of where I was and what had happened. If nothing else, I needed to get my thoughts about Danny out. I'd already journaled about our small reunion and how easily I'd fallen into bed with him, but I was still troubled by it. Deeply troubled by it.

_Dear Hawkeye,_

_I'm not sure when this letter will find you, but I hope that you are doing well._

_As you're probably aware, the war is finally over. We ended up being on the front lines by the end of it, and the entire camp was burned to the ground once. Shortly after we rebuilt it, they finally declared peace, so we just had to tear it all back down anyways. It was a bittersweet end to an era, I'd say._

_I now found myself in Vietnam, serving as chaplain for the military advisors at a small outpost in Quy Nhon. I won't be surprised if a war breaks out here in the next few years, as they're schooling the Vietnamese in the art of war. Being here is unlike anything I've ever experienced. November really can't come fast enough._

_Between Korea and Vietnam I spent a week at HQ in Seoul while I was waiting for my new orders, and you'll never believe who was there. Danny. Of all the people I could possibly run into in Korea, I ran into him. He was so different than I remembered from the last I'd seen of him. I think the war made him finally grow up._

_The only thing that hadn't changed about Danny was his sexual appetite. The very first night I was there, he got into bed with me. I was going to tell him to leave me alone, but the feel of his body on mine reminded me of you and I let myself get swept up into the fantasy that I was with you instead of him. He knew right away that I hadn't been chaste while being in Korea because I wasn't as submissive as I'd always been in the past. When I told him about you, Danny suggested that I forget you and simply settle for him. Just as I'd always suspected, Danny said that he loves me…but I just don't feel that way about him._

_I feel interminably guilty for having had sex with him…for several reasons. One, I feel as though I used your image wrongly. Two, I feel as though I used him for my own gratification. Three, I feel that sex with him is a sinful act because I do not love him as I love you. And lastly, part of me feels like I've somehow betrayed you. I know fidelity in our case is a moot point—you are married, after all—but I feel as though I should at least be faithful to you. I know you probably don't agree, but it's a matter of principle to me._

_I feel quite shaken by the whole experience really. Seeing him again was a shock in itself, but allowing myself to give into him again is very unsettling. Not only that, but Danny expects us to pick back up where we left off. While he's apologized for the past and asked for my forgiveness, I worry that my continued rejection of a relationship with him might turn him back to his old ways. I really feel lost right now. I wish you were here so I could talk to you._

_I still haven't decided what to do in November when I leave the army. As much as I want to see Tseten again, I just don't know what I'll do with myself until April. I'm starting to want to go home, but right now I don't know where home is. If I go back to San Diego to work in the church, I'm afraid I'll fall into a monotonous existence that I'll never be able to climb out of. I haven't contacted the Maryknolls yet, but I'm not sure I'll do that right away anyways. I really feel like I need a break for a while. As much as I love to travel and minister, I'm just feeling run down._

_It seems silly to put an address where you can write to me, since it will take a month or more for this to reach you, and since it's going to your address in Maine, I don't even know when you'll receive it. I'll write again in November when I figure out where I'm going._

_Dago_

Over the next several months, I found myself in yet another state of depression and anxiety. Life in Vietnam was a complete 180 from life in Korea. Here, no one attended services, no one came for confession, no one even spoke to me. I was lonely and longed for the companionship of Hawkeye, Danny and Tseten. I wanted so badly to go home to Hawkeye, to be wrapped up in his arms and told that it was all okay, to hear him say he loved me, but I knew that wasn't going to happen.

When I finally got my orders to go home, I almost cried. I wasn't sure why, but I made the decision to go to Raleigh and stay with Danny. I didn't want to lead him on about a relationship between us, but it was the only place I knew to go where I would be welcome and wouldn't be alone.

It was the middle of December when I finally arrived in Raleigh, North Carolina. The ground was white with snow and people were bustling about doing their Christmas shopping. It felt strange being on U.S. soil again, watching all of these people living their lives completely oblivious to the horrors of the war I'd just been through. I rented a hotel room at the same place I'd stayed the last time I visited him, then I went to Danny's church to inquire about him. I was wearing the unmistakable vestment of my office—a black cassock with the white Roman collar—under a heavy wool cope. I was greeted at the church by one of the sisters.

"Greetings, Father, what can I do for you?"

"God be with you, Sister. My name is Father Mulcahy, I'm a friend of Father Albrecht. It was my understanding that he intended to return to Raleigh upon his departure from the service. Have you any idea when you might expect him?"

"I'm sorry, Father, he has left us no indication of when he might return."

"Oh, I see." I said somewhat sadly. "If you would be so kind, Sister, I will be staying in Raleigh at least until the new year. If Father Albrecht does return, would you please inform him that I will be staying at the Fairview?"

"Of course, Father."

I left the church and returned to the hotel, sitting down at the small desk near the window and penning a letter to Hawkeye that I hoped would reach him.

_Dear Hawkeye,_

_I decided to return to the states pending my decision on what to do next. I'm staying at the Fairview Hotel in Raleigh, North Carolina at least until the New Year to unwind and possibly spend some time with Danny. I hope that my being here doesn't give him the wrong idea, but I had nowhere else to go, and I needed a friend._

_The last several months have been very difficult. Suffice to say, I'm glad that my time as an army chaplain is done._

_I wish you and your family the happiest of Christmases._

_Fondly,_

_Dago Red_

I attended Midnight Mass at Danny's church a week and a half later, even though he had not yet returned to Raleigh, that I was aware of. As I listened to the service, I couldn't help but think back to what I was doing a year ago at this time: Christmas Eve in Korea with Hawkeye and Trapper and Duke and all the others. How I missed them so…

After the service, I waited to great the priest who had presided over Mass. I saw the Sister that I had spoken with when I'd first arrived into town, whisper to the priest before indicating to me. I suddenly felt a cold sense of dread wash over me as the priest approached me.

"Father Mulcahy?" I nodded as we shook hands. "I'm Father Llewellyn. I understand you and Father Albrecht were friends?"

 _Were?_ "Has something happened, Father?"

"I'm afraid we've received word today that Father Albrecht was killed in a prisoner of war camp in the Philippines."

I felt like the rug had been pulled out from under my feet, the world had been knocked off its axis. Killed? Danny? There had to be a mistake… "That can't be….he was supposed to get out of the army in November... he can't be…. No!" I gripped onto the back of a pew, trying to keep myself from fainting from the news as hot tears stung my eyes. Danny—whatever he may have been—was my friend, my brother. I'd never felt a loss more profound…

"I'm sorry, Father." Father Llewellyn said quietly. "We were all quite fond of Daniel. We will be holding a memorial here the day after Christmas. It would honor us if you would come and speak. He often spoke very highly of you."

I nodded dumbly, wiping my eyes. I couldn't believe Danny was gone…if I had known that the last I'd see of him would be in Korea….I left the church, still in tears as I made my way back to the hotel. I couldn't help but wonder if God was somehow punishing me for the things I had done with Danny, and with Hawkeye…

Snow was falling heavily all around me, clinging to my hair and clothes, and chilling the wetness on my face as I walked down the empty street. I felt responsible for Danny's death. He had followed me into the army. If it hadn't been for me, he'd still be alive…

As I approached the hotel, there was a man sitting out front smoking a cigarette and wearing a fedora and long black trench coat. I didn't pay much attention as I ascended the front steps, but a very distinct whistle stopped me dead in my tracks.

I didn't have to look to see that it was Hawkeye, but I spun around to face him in complete disbelief, certain that I was mistaken. Hawkeye stood up and took off his fedora as he looked at me, sans glasses, and smiled. His hair had gotten slightly longer, but overall he looked very much the same. I blinked several times to make sure I wasn't seeing things, then launched myself into his arms. I was overwhelmed with both happiness and grief and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so I ended up doing both.

"Hi baby," he said softly as he embraced me.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, weeping as I pulled back to look at him.

"We went home for Christmas and I got your letters. Mary went into the hospital 2 days ago for the baby—which she still hasn't had—but she told me to leave the boys with my dad and to come here and see you."

"She did?" I couldn't conceal my surprise and he laughed softly.

"Yeah...she's okay with it, like I said she would be. Well, for the most part anyways." Hawkeye grinned. "She's been asking me a lot of questions about it since I told her, and asking about you…I think mostly she got tired of my pacing around knowing you were so close, and my being here would get me out of her hair while she has the baby, so it's a win-win for everyone."

"Hawkeye, you really should be with your family…" I said, shaking my head.

"Trust me, Dago… they're sick of me already and there's no place I'd rather be than with you right now."

"You have no idea how much I've needed you, Hawkeye. Especially now."

He sensed my distress, and looked at me with concern, "Why, baby? What's wrong?"

"It's Danny…" I closed my eyes, fighting off a fresh round of tears. "I just found out that he was killed in the Philippines."

"Jesus Chri—are you okay, Dago?"

"No… not really. I feel like it's all my fault. If I hadn't told him I was going into the army…"

"You can't blame yourself for that, John. He was a grown man, he could make his own decisions."

"I know… I just…I can't believe he's gone."

Hawkeye wrapped his arm around me and led me up the front steps. "Come on, baby, let's go inside, it's colder than a clam's ass out here."

I laughed softly, wiping my eyes, and Hawkeye retrieved a bag he'd left in the foyer of the hotel. I led him to my room on the third floor and we both shed our coats, Hawkeye tossing his hat in a chair as he ran a hand back through his hair to push it off his forehead. We looked at each other for a long minute before Hawkeye smiled.

"Come here."

I complied and found myself being wrapped into his arms and pulled against his body as his lips found mine.

"I've missed you so much," he murmured between kisses.

"Me too," I replied empathetically, making him laugh softly. My fingers found the bottom of the sweater he was wearing but he stopped me as I began to pull it over his head.

"Are you sure, baby? I mean…we don't have to rush if you want to talk about Danny."

"I don't want to think about it right now," I told him tightly, not ready to accept that I would never see Danny again.

"Okay," he whispered, his fingers reaching for the buttons of my cassock before stopping and looking at my vestments. "I…have no idea how to get that off of you."

I couldn't help but laugh as I dropped my hands to the black fascia looped around my waist, carefully removing the sash. I unbuttoned the cuffs of the cassock first before nimbly opening the 33 buttons down the front of the ankle-length garment and shrugging it off. I draped it over the arm of a chair, then reached up and unsnapped the roman collar from around my neck, leaving me in a long-sleeve fly-front shirt and black trousers.

"Really? That's it? It just snaps on?" Hawkeye asked incredulously. "That's just cheating."

I laughed softly but moved back into his arms, kissing him. "Think you can manage it from here?"

"Mmm…I dunno. I like watching you get undressed." He teased.

It was incredible how easily we bantered with each other after nearly a year apart. Part of me wandered if I hadn't really passed out in the church and this was all a dream, but if it was I dreaded waking up.

We slowly undressed each other, Hawkeye ending up having to do most of my work and his, as I couldn't keep my hands out of his long locks. In Korea, he'd typically kept the sides and back shorter than the front, leaving his bangs long. His hair had always been untidy, partly because he never bothered to comb it, and partly because it was usually always dirty. Now, however, it seemed to all be one length, the ends barely sweeping the tops of his ears and falling just to the middle of his forehead…and it was clean. I never really realized just how soft and fine his hair was.

"I should have grown my hair out when I was in Korea," he mused as I let the strands slide through my fingers for the hundredth time. "I never realized you liked it so much."

"It feels different," I told him. "Maybe because you've had a bath since I last saw you."

"Hey!" he laughed in mock offense. "I bathed every day in Korea…mostly."

I laughed, shaking my head as he pulled me into a kiss before moving me towards the bed. I gazed up at him as he laid on top of me. "I can't believe you came, Hawkeye."

He smirked. "I haven't…yet."

He held my eyes with his as he slid his fingers into his mouth and slowly withdrew them. My heart was hammering in my chest as I slid my knees up and apart just as he slipped his fingers gently inside of me. I gasped softly, my hands unintentionally going to his hair again. I heard him laugh as he pulsed his fingers in and out, then he was shifting his weight over me, hovering just at the penetration point.

"God, I've missed this, Dago." He whispered, rubbing the head of his penis against my anus. "I've missed you so fucking much."

"Me too, Hawkeye…" I whispered back.

Hawkeye eased himself into me then and we both groaned in satisfaction. His body twitched and spasmed and he bit down on my neck roughly, making me hiss and whimper from the pleasure and pain.

"Fuck, I forgot how good you felt…" He growled against my ear.

When he rocked his hips into me, I felt breathless with emotion. I was so overjoyed to finally be with Hawkeye again; I didn't want it to ever end. I wanted to linger in the passion, soak up the raw energy of our love making, live here in this moment with him for the rest of my life. Our last sexual encounter had been intense for an entirely different reason, and the emotions surrounding that time had been leaden with despair. Now, even in the wake of Danny's death, the only thing I could feel was happiness. Perhaps the timing of Hawkeye's arrival was perverse, or perhaps it was destiny. He'd shown up exactly when I needed him and not a moment later. I quietly thanked God, even if this was an inappropriate moment to do so.

We both moved towards our release noisily, grunting and growling and moaning in ecstasy at whatever volume we pleased for the first time ever. The hotel room was warm, making us sweat from exertion, our skin sticking together in places. When Hawkeye threw his head back, sucking a breath in through clenched teeth and screwing up his face as if in great pain, I knew he was on the edge. I pushed myself hard onto him and clenched my muscles, making him cry out as he found his release. His hand found my penis and he stroked me with a tight grip, continuing his thrusts inside of me until I too had found release.

As we both came down from our high, I crushed Hawkeye's body against mine, holding him so tightly that my arms burned from the effort. He was kissing along my forehead and temple. "I love you," he murmured.

The words made my heart leap inside my chest and I squeezed him even tighter. "I love you, too, Hawkeye."

"I need a shower," he said with a grin as he looked down at himself covered in sweat and semen.

"You'll have to settle for a bath," I told me. "The bathroom has a claw-foot tub."

"Even better," he said, grabbing my hand and practically dragging me off the bed and into the adjoining bathroom. He turned on the faucet, adjusting it so that steamy water was filling the tub, then he rinsed his hands off in the sink.

"Are you sure your wife is okay with this, Hawkeye?" I asked, the guilt a little delayed.

"We have an understanding," he told me. "She lets us do our thing, but she reserves the right to ask me any question she wants about it."

"What exactly does she get out of that deal?"

"You obviously don't know Mary and her line of questioning." He said, looking at me with an expression that stayed any further questions on my end.

Hawkeye climbed into the bathtub, hissing a little at the sting of the hot water as he settled down in the chest-deep water, then motioned for me. "Get in here with me."

I dipped my hand in test the water, pulling back as it nearly scalded me. "Are you crazy! That's going to melt our skin off!"

"It only hurts for a second," he laughed. "Come on, it'll feel good, I promise."

I held my breath and clenched my teeth as I stepped one foot into the tub of hot water, cringing as it burned.

"If you do it quickly, it doesn't hurt so much. Like ripping off a Band-Aid."

"I never liked ripping off Band-Aids," I told him, stepping my other foot into the tub. I took a deep breath, then quickly lowered myself down in the water to face him. "Ahhhhh… hot, hot, hot, hot…"

Hawkeye was laughing at me. "Turn around."

I did as I was told and Hawkeye pulled me back against him, sinking us down in the water to our necks, our knees poking out of the water. I sighed a little as my body got accustomed to the temperature of the water and I felt him laugh softly as he kissed behind my ear.

"See? Told you it would feel good."

"Don't ruin the moment by being smug," I teased, closing my eyes and relaxing against him. "I'm glad you're here, Hawkeye… I've really needed you."

"I know," he said softly. "I could tell from the tone of your letters that things weren't going too well."

"How so?"

"They got very short and to the point. I got the impression you felt like you were wasting your time writing to me."

I blushed, "Oh…well, I guess I kind of did because I didn't know when you'd get them and it wasn't like you could write me back anyways."

"What was it like at the end of the war?" He asked, sincerely curious.

I sighed, considering the question. "Tense."

I told Hawkeye about the POW's and the brawl between the soldiers and Painless' gang, I told him about Radar's uncle, and about watching everyone leave the camp. I told him what it felt like to see the camp burned to the ground and trying to rebuild it only to have to tear it all down again. I found myself talking about Danny and what it was like to see him again and how happy I'd been that he was alive. "I can't believe he's gone…I can't believe that was the last time I saw him."

"At least you two were able to make amends before he died," Hawkeye offered gently.

I nodded, wiping tears from my eyes. "His church is having a memorial tomorrow, they've asked me to speak. If you can, I'd like for you to be there with me."

"Sure. The only real time I have to be back is by the New Year. I've got to be back in Jersey by January 4th."

"How's that going?"

"I hate it," he sighed. "Well, really I hate the son of a bitch who's making my life a living hell right now. He's this black Irish fellow, and boy does he dislike me. If I wasn't learning so much from him I'd tell him to go to Hell."

"You've only got a year and a half left, right?"

"Yeah, something like that. I'm not sure Mary's going to go back with me in January. The place they rented out for us is an absolute shit-hole and there's no room for the kids to do much of anything. Plus, with the baby…she thinks it'll be better for her to stay in Maine."

"Is there anything I can do to help out?"

"No… although…maybe you could come stay with me in Jersey for a while. At least until you decide where you want to go and what you want to do."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Hawk…what about your wife?"

"I'll worry about Mary," he said, wrapping me tightly in his embrace. "You just say yes or no."

I was reluctant to say yes, though I knew there was no way in hell I was about to say no. I finally sighed and settled for a nod of acceptance.

We stayed in the tub until the water started to grow tepid, both of us nodding off until I finally convinced Hawkeye to finish up in the bath. We made quick work of soaping up and rinsing off, struggling to wash our hair in such a little space in the tub, but finally managed to get clean and get out. I dried off and wrapped my towel around my waist as I brushed my teeth. Hawkeye went over to his bag and fished around for his comb and toothbrush, using my toothpaste to brush his teeth.

We got into the large queen-sized bed together, our naked bodies twining together as our lips sought out tender kisses. It felt so good to have him here, especially when I wasn't expecting him to be here. For once we could fall asleep together without worrying about him staying the entire night. We could sleep late into the morning and wake up together for the first time without fear that someone would put two and two together.

"Thank you for being here, Hawkeye." Choosing my words carefully, least he twist them again.

"You don't have to thank me, baby. I've been dying to see you." He pressed a kiss to my shoulder. "You know, the way Mary found out about us was the day the papers announced the end of the war. I realized that I didn't know where you were going to be and I was afraid we'd lose contact with each other…I ended up breaking down and crying like a baby. For the record, Mary had never seen me cry until then."

"I'm sorry to have ruined your reputation."

He laughed softly.

"What kinds of things has she asked about us?" I wondered curiously.

"She's asked about you, what you're like, what I like best about you. She's asked what kind of things we do in bed together…"

"I still can't imagine how she can be okay with this."

"Mary's not like other women."

"Apparently not."

We drifted off to sleep with him pressed against my back, his arms around me tightly. Though I was afraid of waking up and finding that this had all been a dream, his steady, quiet breath at the nape of my neck reassured me of his presence and eventually lulled me to sleep.

The phone jangled loudly next to the bed, startling me out my dead sleep what felt like only moments after I'd fallen asleep, but as Hawkeye reached across me to answer it, I realized that sunlight was streaming in through the window. I glanced at the bedside clock and saw that it was close to 10am.

"Whattsa matter? Is everything okay?" Hawkeye answered the phone by way of greeting. There was a pause as he listened and I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes as I looked at the smile creeping across his face. "No kidding? You finally got a girl, huh? Damn… that means I owe Trapper $20. Is she as ugly as the other two were when they came out?"

I could hear the scolding, "Benjamin Franklin Pierce!" come from the other end of the line and I couldn't stop the laugh that escaped me.

Hawkeye looked over at me with a grin. "Yeah, that was Dago."

I immediately blushed and covered my mouth.

"So what are you calling her?" He pulled me down to his chest as he laid on his back with the phone against his ear. "Karen? Really?... No, no, it's fine, just…Karen Peirce? Not much of a ring to it…Of course I'm not questioning your judgment…Yes, dear…of course, dear. Merry Christmas, dear."

I was amused by the one-sided conversation, intrigued by the relationship Hawkeye and his wife seemed to have. Hawkeye looked at me before saying, "Mary says to wish you a Merry Christmas."

"Oh…uh….Merry Christmas to her as well. And…congratulations."

"Did you hear him?" Hawkeye asked into the receiver. He laughed softly. "Doesn't he though? Alright. I'll call you later to check on you…. Yes, I promise to behave. Love you."

He looked at the phone strangely before laughing. "She hung up on me. She must be the only woman alive who thinks there's something wrong with me when I tell her I love her."

"What'd she say about me?"

He grinned as he hung up the phone and pulled the blankets back up around us, "That you have a nice voice."

I blushed furiously. "Oh…."

"Karen," he shook his head. "Who names their kid Karen?"

"I think it's a lovely name."

"You would side with her," he teased before kissing me and tangling his legs around mine. "Let's go back to sleep, we don't have any reason to be awake."

"I don't think I can go back to sleep. I'm hungry."

"What's there to eat around here?"

"Depends on what you want." I told him, gaining a lecherous grin. "To eat." I clarified.

He laughed and kissed me deeply before stretching and yawning and getting out of bed to go to the toilet and relieve himself, not bothering to close the door. I couldn't help but watch, my cheeks turning red at how comfortable Hawkeye obviously felt around me.

This was one of two Christmases since I'd become an ordained priest that I hadn't given Midnight Mass and hadn't presided over Christmas Day services. I felt almost guilty in leisurely getting dressed in casual clothes rather than clericals and walking down the main thoroughfare with Hawkeye as we looked for a place in which to dine. Most businesses were closed, as it was the Day of Savior's Birth, but we did manage to find a Jewish bakery that smelled divine from the sidewalk alone.

We ordered a variety of pastries, including several different flavors of rugelach, a few Danishes, and a couple of pieces of honey cake with cherries and walnuts. We also ordered two cups of coffee, then found a table near the front windows to eat our sweets. The rugelach ended up being my favorite, and I particular enjoyed the apricot flavored one. Hawkeye seemed partial to the cinnamon flavored rugelach.

We took what we didn't manage to eat with us, and the proprietor even threw in a couple of corned beef sandwiches for us before wishing us a Merry Christmas. We wished him a prosperous New Year and I noticed Hawkeye leave a rather generous tip in the jar on the counter.

There wasn't much to do around the town other than walk around and window shop, but neither of us seemed to much care for that option, so we went back to the hotel room, stripped off our clothes, made love before spending the entire afternoon in bed alternating between napping, talking and even an amusing game of I-spy. It was probably the best way to spend Christmas that I could think of.

After we ate a late lunch of cold corned beef sandwiches, Hawkeye turned on the small television set, adjusting the antenna until a clear picture came on the screen just in time for the latest episode of Captain Midnight…or so Hawkeye claimed. I laid against him as we watched the opening sequence, listening to Hawkeye quote the dialog in a very deep, theatrical voice.

"You must have seen this once or twice," I teased.

"Tommy and Charlie love Captain Midnight. I'll bet they're forcing Dad to watch it right now. It's actually not that bad of a show. Don't you ever watch television?"

"No." I answered mildly. "We didn't have a set when I was growing up, I didn't have one in college or seminary, there wasn't one at the church in Tibet, and obviously we didn't have one in Korea. I did go to the movie theater when I was a kid; I would spend all day at the nickelodeon whenever my parents let me. I mainly listened to a lot of radio programs. I still do whenever I'm around a radio. The Bickersons were one of my favorites, though unfortunately I came in on the later part of that series."

He kissed the top of my head and we lapsed back into a companionable silence as we watched the show. Not too long into the program, however, my eyes began to grow heavy and, though I tried to stay awake, I ended up dozing off.

When morning dawned, I awoke before Hawkeye, letting him sleep as I took to the bathroom to groom. I used the time to reflect on what I would say about Danny at the memorial. Father Llewellyn had said that everyone loved Danny, which had always been true. He'd always been such a charismatic person, so very likeable…even in the dark times. I wanted Danny's memory to be of his goodness and charm, rather than the personal struggles that only I was privy to. I would treat my last conversation with Danny as something like a confession. Though I knew that Danny had gone on to meet our maker, I still couldn't help but grieve his loss.

As I stood at the sink shaving, Hawkeye stumbled naked into the bathroom, having obviously just woken up. He had the presence of mind to kiss my bare shoulder before he moved to the toilet to relieve himself.

"Do you know what time the memorial is?" He asked, yawning and scratching his backside.

"11 o'clock."

"I thought, if you'd like, that after the service we'd get out of here. Drive back up to Maine before the New Year."

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Hawkeye?"

"I called Mary last night after you fell asleep and we talked about the idea of you staying with me in Jersey. She actually thought it was a good idea because she has made up her mind about staying in Crabapple Cove. We've decided that since it's only a 6 hour drive between Crabapple and Shithole, New Jersey that I'll drive home one any weekends or extended breaks to see Mary and the boys…and the baby. The rest of the time I'll spend with you."

I stared at him for a long moment. "This really doesn't feel right."

"Look, baby, I know it must be strange to you, but I promise you…it's okay. I told you Mary isn't like other women, she gets me…she gets what I feel for you."

"But, Hawkeye, she's you're _wife_."

"Please don't tell me you're going to start quoting scripture to me, Dago." He sighed, sounded exasperated.

I didn't say anything and he laughed humorlessly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Jesus Christ…of all the fucking people to fall in love with, I had to go for the priest." He sighed again but looked at me seriously. "Dago, you just have to trust me that this is okay. Maybe it's not 'biblically' okay, but as far as my wife and I are concerned it is. If she wasn't really alright about this, I wouldn't be here…I wouldn't be asking you to move to New Jersey with me. Not to mention it was her idea for you to come back to Maine with me for New Years."

When I still didn't say anything, mostly because Right and Wrong were currently at war in my stomach and I wasn't sure yet what to do, Hawkeye came over and pressed his forehead to mine.

"Please, Dago…"

I sighed and closed my eyes, giving in. "Alright."

There was no body at the memorial for Danny, and I tried not to think of how he'd died, or what had been done to his remains as I sat in the pew looking up at a several large sprays of floral arrangements surrounding a black and white 8x10 photo of Danny on a pedestal. Most of the church's regular population had shown up, and in the front row was a couple who looked to be in their sixties, as well as a woman somewhere around mine or Hawkeye's age with striking blonde hair. I knew immediately that they were Danny's parents and sister, whom I'd met a few times when we were in seminary together. The sight of them made my stomach churn.

Father Llewellyn spoke first, giving a brief overview of Danny's life as he knew it, and reading passages from the Bible that spoke about death and offered comfort to those who mourn. I found myself lost in my own thoughts and memories, not really listening to him until Hawkeye nudged me with his elbow. I looked over at him and he nodded towards the pulpit where Father Llewellyn was looking at me.

"Father Mulcahy? Would you like to come say a few words?" He asked, obviously repeating himself.

"Oh, yes…forgive me…" I muttered as I stood and took his place in front of the congregation. "Most of you don't know me, but I am…was… Danny's best friend. Right from the first day at seminary, Danny proved himself to be a very confident, enigmatic individual. I'm sure if you would ask any of the Monsignors at the school, they would go on to say that Danny was a rabble rouser, who never let the opportunity for a good practical joke slip by. He was a friend to everyone, but to me…he was like a brother. After we left seminary, Danny and I stayed in touch, even when I became a missionary and spent several years in Tibet. It was because of me that Danny decided to join the army and become a chaplain." I paused for a long second, feeling the guilt of that statement. "I'm probably the last person—in this room—to have seen Danny alive. It was in August, following the resolution of the war in Korea. By sheer coincidence…or perhaps Divine intervention…we ran into each other at headquarters in Seoul, waiting for our new orders, and I was able to spend several days with him, catching up and remembering what a wonderful friend he'd always been. We'd spoken about meeting up here in Raleigh after our release from the army…which is actually why I'm here. It wasn't until Christmas Eve that I heard of the news of Danny's death. Mr. and Mrs. Albrecht, Shelley…I'm deeply sorry for the loss of your son and your brother. As devastating as his death is to all of us, I know that Danny would not want us to mourn him. He was so full of life and passion, and that's what we should remember about him and take with us when we leave here today. I will always miss Danny, but I know that he will live on in our hearts and in our thoughts."

As I stepped down, passing the first row where Danny's family sat in tears, Shelley stood up and threw her arms around me. "Thank you, John. Danny considered you to be a brother, too."

I knew Danny's affections for me were deeper than a bond of brotherhood, but I kept that thought to myself as I hugged Shelley and moved back to my seat next to Hawkeye.

After the service, I waited to speak with Danny's parents, knowing I should say something more personal to them. Danny's father came up and shook my hand firmly. "John, it's good to see you again. Thank you for being here."

"Mr. Albrecht, I wish there was something more I could say…"

"I think you said it all quite well. You're right, Danny wouldn't have wanted us to sit around crying over him. There's going to be a small reception at the house after this, you're more than welcome to come, of course."

"Oh…thank you, Mr. Albrecht. I'll be leaving to visit a friend and his family in Maine shortly after this, but perhaps we will stop by."

"John, dear," Muriel Albrecht came up and took my hands. "Danny would have been so thankful for you being here and your kind words about him."

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Albrecht."

"He was so very fond of you, John."

"And I of him."

Muriel embraced me with tears in her eyes. "God love you both."

I hugged Shelley once again, then the family moved off to greet the others at the service. I turned to Hawkeye, feeling sick. "Let's get out of here."

Hawkeye put his arm around my shoulder and led me out to his car parked in the parking lot. As we climbed in and he fired up the engine, I looked back at the church one last time, silently saying goodbye to Danny, even though I knew his soul was long since departed. Hawkeye aimed his car for the highway that would take us north to Maine and reached across the bench seat to take my hand comfortingly. We rode in companionable silence until we crossed the border into Virginia.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye's POV.

It was a 14 hour drive between Crabapple Cove and Raleigh. I'd been so pumped with adrenaline of seeing Dago that the drive down didn't seem that bad, but the drive back seemed to be taking forever. I didn't mind so much, as Dago finally started talking about an hour or so into the drive, but there were better things we could be doing with our time than sitting in a car. We stopped for gas after about six hours and picked up some coffee and a bite to eat.

"Do you want me to drive for a while?" Dago offered as we ate.

"You don't have to."

"I know, but would you like me to?"

"I dunno…I've seen you behind the wheel of a jeep, I'm not sure I want you driving my car."

He smirked at me, though I could tell he was trying not to, and I handed him my keys.

"Just keep going north until you see the signs for Maine. I'm going to catch a little shut eye."

"You're taking a risk with me driving your car while you're asleep? You really are a compulsive gambler." Dago teased.

I smirked but tipped my fedora down over my eyes and leaned my head back against the seat. "Crash us into a snow bank or another car and I'll kill you."

As it was, we made it into Crabapple without incident, though I hadn't slept the whole way and we'd stopped once again for gas and a piss. I'd taken over driving again and Dago had taken to looking out the window at the sights—even though it was dark out.

"This is the farthest north I've ever been." He commented, impressed by the high piles of snow on the ground.

"Welcome to Maine." I grinned, lighting up a cigarette that we ended up sharing.

As I turned on Pierce Road and drove towards the house, only the porch light was on, which told me that Mary had called Dad to tell him we'd be coming home and he'd come over to give me a beacon of light to see by. Good ol' Dad.

I pulled the car up in front of the house and turned it off, looking at Dago. "This is it. Mary's not coming home from the hospital until tomorrow afternoon, and the boys are still with my Dad, so it's just us tonight."

"Gee," Dago said, looking down towards the channel. "I didn't realize you lived right on the water."

"Yeah, it's great in the summer," I told him as I opened the door and got out of the car. "Our own little swimming hole. That's Dad's farm across the way there. You can kind of see his boat there. You'll see it better in the daylight. Come inside."

I showed Dago around the house and took him to the guest room where he'd be staying, letting him put his stuff down before we headed back to the living room. I fetched us a couple of beers turned on the tube for noise as we sat on the couch. I could tell he felt uncomfortable being here, so I slid closer to him, putting my arm around him and pulling him into a kiss.

"Relax, baby."

"I'm trying," he murmured softly, brushing his nose against mine.

He was still wearing his priestly get-up, so I stood back up and pulled him to his feet. "Come on, we're going to find something more casual for you to wear."

I led him to my bedroom, where I felt him pull against me for a moment at the threshold, realizing where we were. I laughed, but tugged him into the room, telling him to get undressed as I went to my closet. Just for a laugh, I pulled a pair of my Levi's off a hanger, tossing them to him as I found a red cable knit sweater that Mary's mother had given me several years ago and that I completely hated.

I sat on the bed and watched him undressed, sipping my beer as he stepped into the blue jeans, and fastened the button fly on the front. I grinned, admiring him standing there in my jeans, and admitting just how good he looked out of all that church garb. He pulled the sweater over his head, running a hand through his mused hair to tame it as he arranged the top comfortably on him.

"You definitely make that sweater look good," I said, hooking my finger in a belt loop and dragging him in between my legs to kiss him. He made a noise of protest and pulled back.

"Not in the room you and your wife share…please."

I nodded and let him go. He gathered up his discarded clothing and carried it back to the guest room. I set my beer on the dresser and followed him, waiting until his hands were empty before I tackled him onto the bed, digging my fingers into his sides where I knew him to be ticklish. He howled with laughter, trying to push me off or tickle me back, but years of being a football player gave me an advantage.

"Uncle! Uncle!" he finally cried, breathless and in tears.

I laughed but stopped tickling him and he grabbed his stomach, groaning and laughing all at the same time.

"I really hate you sometimes."

I grinned, then rolled him over on top of me, dragging his head down. He resisted just before our lips touched and I could see the mischievous glint in his eyes as he looked at me. My dick went to full attention.

"Fuck, I love it when you look at me like that." I groaned, pressing up against him.

Dago grinned, dipping his head down and faking me out as he teased me with his lips a breath from mine, pulling back each time I tried to lean up to meet his lips. His hand, meanwhile was undoing my belt and trousers. I finally dropped my head to the bed, realizing I wasn't going win and he laughed softly above me before finally kissing me as his hand slipped below deck and seized my cock. I groaned again against his mouth, sliding my tongue past his teeth, but he pulled away again.

"Dago…" I whined, wanting him so bad it hurt.

He nipped my ear, then my neck, then slipped down the length of my body before yanking my pants off and running his tongue from my balls to the head of my cock.

"Fuuuuuuuck…" I groaned, loving how good he was at this. He laughed again, then took me into his mouth, reducing me to little more than grunts, groans and garbled sounds of gratification. I was so close to cumming, but I wasn't ready yet. I ran my fingers through his hair, gripping the ends lightly and pulling him back until his mouth slid off my cock with a wet pop. He looked up at me, his mouth wet, blue eyes blazing with curiosity. "Fuck me, Dago."

It'd been a good year or more since he was last inside of me, so I wasn't sure what to expect as far as the pain of entry. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and pulled up onto his knees. "You're sure, Hawk?"

My only answer was to reach for the buttons on the fly of his jeans, tugging so that they popped free one right after the other. He grinned at me and pulled the red sweater off over his head. I wriggled out of my own sweater just in time to see him pushing the jeans and his skivvies down his legs. I moved so that my head was on the pillows and Dago moved between my legs. I brought his fingers to my mouth, nipping the pads of his fingertips lightly before wetting his digits.

I closed my eyes and groaned as he moved them down between my legs and in between the cheeks of my ass. Dago always knew how to distract me until I was ready to take his cock. I was so wrapped up in the feel of his teeth all over my skin that I barely registered his gentle, "Ready?"

"Uh huh…" I managed.

Dago withdrew his fingers and, seconds later, replaced them with his cock. I opened my eyes to see him looking down at me as he sheathed himself inside of me completely. He smiled softly, leaning down to kiss my lips as he slowly began to thrust in and out. The feel of him inside of me coupled with the way his cock pressed against my prostate was making it hard to breath. It felt so damn good…how had I gone an entire year without this?

When he took my cock in one of his hands, working me in time with his thrusts, I shuddered almost violently, reaching around and grasping the globes of his ass and squeezing them, trying to pull him even deeper into me. Dago thrust roughly into me, panting above me from the exertion. I dug my heels down in the mattress, pushing my ass up off the bed to try and give him better access and to meet his every thrust.

"Ah! Fuck!" I grit my teeth together, trying desperately not to cum. "Dago!"

"It's alright," he said reading my mind, his lips suddenly against my ear. He was breathing heavily and sounding close himself. "Cum for me, Hawkeye."

Though hearing Dago talk dirty during sex wasn't a new thing—he'd done it on a few occasions in Korea—it'd been a very long time since I'd heard him utter such phrases…and in that voice. The rich, sultry timbre that made the hair on my arms stand up. It was like a green light for my orgasm and there was nothing I could do to control my dick from launching cum like a rocket.

My orgasm set off the chain reaction to his and he cried out hoarsely as he came. His hand never stopped working my cock, even after the last of my cum had shot up somewhere in the vicinity of my navel and chest. Each stroke of his hand made me shudder as my dick grew sensitive to the touch, and I nearly asked him to stop before my mind exploded, but his hand finally slowed and stopped as he spent him.

I looked up at his face—his eyes were closed, mouth slightly open as he breathed heavily. There was a sheen of sweat on his brow, making his hair slightly damp. I pushed the strands off his forehead and he slowly opened his eyes, looking at me sleepily, his cheeks were flushed.

"I can't believe we just did that…" he said quietly.

"What? Had mind-blowing sex?"

"Well…yes, but I was more referring to the fact that we had it in the house you share with your wife and children."

"Dago, I swear to God, if you start with the guilt again—"

"I'm not," he cut me off, looking at me with a serious expression. "I don't feel guilty, Hawkeye; but that's the problem. I should."

"You shouldn't." I corrected. "We haven't done anything wrong."

He gave me an incredulous look, but opted not to argue and I pulled him down into a kiss.

We took a shower together, and I shaved his face and washed his hair the same way I'd done in Korea when I'd kick started our relationship. He did the same for me, though this time he didn't nick me with the razor. We got out, put on our pajamas—he put on the socks I'd given him last Christmas—and I turned out the lights in the rest of the house and tossed our beer bottles away as he brushed his teeth and finished getting ready for bed.

Though I knew I probably shouldn't, I crawled into bed with him and he rested his head against me as we linked our fingers together. After a minute, his hand grew restless and I realized he was fiddling with my wedding ring.

"Should I take it off?" I asked, feeling quite tired after the long drive and the great sex.

"Hmm?" He raised his head from my shoulder, turning his face up to look at me, but the question sank in before I could repeat it. "Oh…no…sorry, I'm just not used to you wearing it."

"Does it bother you?"

"The ring? No more than any of the rest of it bothers me."

"I wish you wouldn't let it," I sighed.

"No, it's good that it bothers me, Hawkeye." He countered. "If it didn't bother me, I would have to wonder if maybe I hadn't been possessed by the Devil in all of this. The guilt and whatever else I feel tells me that I'm doing this of my own will…not Satan's."

I raised my head off the pillow and looked at him. "You actually considered the possibility that you were possessed?"

"Don't you remember what I told you boys about demons? How sexual perversion and immorality is just one sign that a person has been possessed?"

"What about me? I don't feel guilty at all… could I be possessed?"

He looked at me seriously for a long, hard moment as he considered the question. "No. I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"Because you still love your wife."

"And that means I'm not possessed?"

"I think if you were possessed by a demon, you would be swayed by much more perverse acts than fooling around with a priest. I know that probably doesn't make sense to you, but there's a difference between love and possession."

"So, Dago, if it does bother you…why do you fool around with me?" I asked, truly curious.

"Because I love you." He said simply. "Back in Korea, Sidney told me that no one chooses to fall in love…it just happens."

I placed my hand on the back of his head and drew him into a kiss. "Wiser words were never spoken."

We settled back in together and I felt him yawn. I kissed the top of his head, holding him closer and together we drifted off to sleep.

When morning came, Dago was still sleeping soundly beside me, so I slipped quietly out of bed and tiptoed out of the guest room, closing the door behind me so that if Mary or the kids came back home before he woke up, they wouldn't disturb him.

The house was warm, thanks to the radiators, but I lit a fire in the fireplace for an extra layer of comfort before going to the kitchen to make coffee. At least another foot or two of snow had fallen during the night, adding to the high pile already on the ground. I knew I'd probably have to have Dad bring his tractor over and dig my car out in a couple of days if I was going to be back in Jersey by the 4th. I was lucky in the fact that every few days he plowed our drive and all the way down Pierce Road so that we could get in and out.

As I sat with my coffee, I decided to call up to the hospital to find out when Mary would be released and who would be bringing her home.

"I figured you'd still be asleep," Mary greeted me with a teasing tone. "Or have you two even slept yet?"

"He's still asleep but I got up a few minutes ago. How are you doing?"

"I'm great. Ready to get out of here, and I dare say that they're ready for me to go."

"And the baby?"

"She's good too, hasn't been too fussy, though she's anxious to meet her daddy."

"What time do you expect you'll be home?"

"About noon. Mother is coming to pick us up and I have it on good authority that several of the ladies from the church are going to be bringing by some dishes. Also, don't be surprised if Cynthia and Patty show up before I get there. Can you make sure the house is picked up? I don't expect you to actually clean anything, but at least pick up your dirty underwear and socks, will you?"

"Anything else, dear?" I teased.

"Hmm…no I suppose not. How was the drive in?"

"A little longer than the drive down, but he offered to drive part of the way so I caught a nap."

"That's quite nice of him. How's he doing?"

I'd told Mary about Dago's friend passing away when I'd called her from North Carolina, and had told her we'd be attending the service before we headed back to Maine. "Okay, I think. I haven't really asked."

"Hawkeye," she admonished.

"What? He told me the other day he doesn't really want to talk about it. I know if it really bugs him, he'll say something. That's the way he is. So don't you go pestering him about it."

After my call with Mary, I got dressed and did as she asked, making sure the house looked up to her standards for guests. Dad brought the boys over around 10:30 and they showed me everything Santa had given them for Christmas. They were also quite upset that Santa hadn't left anything for their baby sister.

As Dad and I sat in the living room with a beer while Tommy and Charlie watched the television, Dago finally joined us, wearing the casual clothes I'd given him last night, and still looking damn good in them. I introduced Dago to my dad and the boys, and I could tell he was a little nervous about meeting my family.

"Wanna beer?" Dad asked Dago.

"No, thank you, Mr. Pierce. It's still a little early for me."

"Well ain't he cunnin'," Dad laughed, looking over at me. "Son of a howza just called me Mr. Pierce. Can't tell you the last time I heard such a thing."

"Everyone calls dad 'Big Benji' around here. I don't think anyone in Crabapple goes much on formality." I explained to Dago.

"Where about you from ennyhow, boy?" Dad asked Dago.

"San Diego. I lived there my entire life until I moved to the eastern seaboard for seminary."

"So it's true you's a preacher then?"

"Yes, sir."

"You gotta stop with that Jeesly 'sir' business now." Dad said, laughing again.

"Don't bother trying to break him of that, Dad," I smirked, looking at Dago. "It's engrained."

We sat talking for a while…well, mostly Dad was asking Dago questions and Dago was trying to understand Dad's thick Mainer accent, much to Dad's amusement.

"Whatsa matter, boy? You nummer that a hake or what?"

Dago looked completely confused at that point and finally looked to me for translation, which made both me and dad dissolve into a fit of laughter. I knew by that time, Dad was just laying it on thick just to toy with Dago. "Alright, Pop, leave him alone."

About that time we heard a car horn out front.

"What the…that sounded like a bee fart in a tin can. Who dat, Hawkeye?" Dad asked trying to see through the curtains from his spot in one of the chairs.

I looked out and saw an old 40s Studebaker next to my car. "That'd be Mary's sisters. She warned me they'd be coming over." I got up and handed my beer to Dago, excusing myself as I grabbed my coat off the rack and headed out the front door.

After another round of introductions, and another Q & A session, I could tell Dago needed a break. "Come help me bring in some more wood for the fire, Dago."

We went out on the back porch where I kept the wood stacked up to keep it dry and I pulled out my cigarettes, offering him one. He took it, lit it, and took a drag before looking at me.

"Thanks."

"How you holdin' up with all of them?"

"Why don't you have a heavy accent like they do?" He asked curiously, not answering my question. "I can barely understand your dad sometimes."

I laughed. "I do, depending on what I'm talking about, but I was the only one of that bunch to go to college. I lost a lot of the native tongue there. Don't worry, Mary doesn't have an accent like that either. She's more like you—well spoken."

"'Nummer than a hake?'" He asked, still wanting a translation.

I laughed harder. "It means 'stupid.' Dad's pretty bad about using phrases like that, but he's playing it up a lot just to tease you."

We finished our cigarettes, and I handed Dago several pieces of wood before we went back inside, just in time to see Mary's mother's car pull up the drive.

"They're here! They're here!" Charlie cried, jumping up and down excitedly.

"Tommy, Charlie," I called them both to attention. "When your momma gets in here with the baby, don't crowd them. Remember to be easy with them because the baby is little."

I donned my coat one more time, then headed outside to help Mary out of the car. She was holding a bundle of pink and white blankets in her arms, sitting in the front seat, waiting for me to open the door.

"What do you think I am, a doorman? Can't you open a door, woman?" I teased, pulling back the edge of the blanket to see the sleeping pink face of my daughter. I brushed her tiny cheek with my finger and she scrunched her face in annoyance.

"Don't touch her with your cold, dirty hands." Mary scolded, shooing me away. "Get the bags out of the back, will you?"

"Yes dear…"

Mary leaned up and kissed my lips for a long moment before she began trudging through the snow with the baby. "And don't forget the bassinette in the trunk."

I quickly gathered the bags and the bassinette, juggling them all as I hurried after Mary and her mother who were making their way up the steps. Dad was on the porch waiting to greet them and help Mary inside. I could see Tommy and Charlie's faces smushed against the window as they watched Mary carrying the baby up to the house.

Once we were all inside, everyone seemed to be talking at once, except for Dago, who was standing near the kitchen obviously feeling completely out of place. I caught his eye and gave him a smile as I set the bags down and went to Mary and the baby. She finally passed the child to me and I cradled Karen in my arms for the first time. She opened her small eyes, looking up at me and gave a great big yawn.

"Bad luck, Hawkeye," Cynthia said. "She's already bored with you like the rest of us. Don't hog her all to yourself, pass her over."

"If you please, Cyn, this is _my_ child."

"Oh, pfft." Mary teased beside me. "I didn't see you in labor after carrying her for 9 months. Give her to Cynthia and introduce me to your friend."

I passed Karen off to her doting aunts and wrapped an arm around Mary's shoulders, leading her to where Dago was leaning against the door frame between the kitchen and the living room, looking at the scene in the living room with a mixture of interest and discomfort. He straightened his posture as Mary and I approached.

"I recognize that sweater," Mary said with a slight smirk as she eyed the red sweater.

"Oh," Dago blushed, looking down at his chest. "Yes, I'm afraid Hawkeye had to lend me some clothes. Most of the attire I own is clericals, none of which is very casual."

"It's quite alright, I assure you. It's probably the first time that sweater's even been worn." Mary stuck out her hand to him. "Mary Pierce, I'm quite pleased to finally meet you."

"John Mulcahy," Dago said, his voice trembling slightly as he shook Mary's hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Pierce."

"I think, under the circumstances, it's quite alright for you to call me Mary, John." Mary tilted her head. "Do you prefer John or Dago? Hawkeye's only ever referred to you as Dago."

"Either is fine. Most everyone calls me Dago. Hearing my given name is almost foreign now."

Mary laughed appreciatively, "Well, seeing as how my own husband can't stand his Christian name, I think I would prefer to call you John."

A moment of awkward silence fell between us as we all knew there was more to say, but in current company nothing more could be said. To my surprise, Mary took Dago's arm and led him back into the living room.

"Come, you don't have to stand over here alone. Like it or not, you're part of this family now, John."

Dago looked back at me over his shoulder and I merely grinned and winked at him. There was no arguing with Mary.

The three of us sat together on the couch, though I could sense Dago's discomfort from where I was sitting on the other side of my wife. Karen was passed back to Mary and she promptly handed the baby over to Dago, who looked mortified. Mary smiled at him reassuringly.

"It's okay, John, she won't bite you. You can't tell me you've never held a baby before."

"Only the ones that I've christened."

"What about your nephews?" I asked looking over at him holding my daughter.

"The oldest was born while I was in seminary, so I didn't see him when he was first born. The two younger children were born while I was in Tibet. They were about the same age as your two boys are now when I first saw them."

"That's quite sad." Mary told him. "Have you visited them since coming home from the war?"

"No…I suppose I ought to go visit soon." I recognized Dago's tone as one in which he had no intention of following up on and it made me wonder if there was more to the story of his homecoming from Tibet that he hadn't told me.

As the conversation shifted, I held my hands out for Karen, and Dago carefully passed her back to me just as the ladies from the church arrived with enough food to feed an entire army. Mary instructed me to help them set everything up in the kitchen and I started to wonder if I'd ever get an opportunity to hold my own child longer than ten seconds. Dago offered to help and he and I went out to unload the cars.

"I didn't realize there was going to be such a fanfare today," Dago sounded overwhelmed. "The thought of meeting your wife was stressful enough, Hawkeye, but now I've met your father, her mother and sisters, and now these people from the church…I really need a drink, my nerves are shot."

"I'm sorry they all showed up," I told him, gently ruffling his hair. "They'll be gone after lunch and then you and I can have a real drink."

"I hope I'm not being rude, but is your wife being nice to me because she has to?"

I laughed at the question, giving a brief look up at the house before I pulled him to me and brushed my lips against his, letting him go in the same instance. Had anyone been watching, they wouldn't have really known whether or not I'd just kissed him. "Believe me, Dago…Mary's not nice unless she means it. I can tell she already likes you. I mean, for one thing, you're wearing that God awful sweater her mother gave me."

"What's wrong with this sweater? It's quite nice, Hawkeye."

"It's nice on you," I smirked.

We carried in the remaining food and helped get it all set up in the kitchen before the ladies announced it was ready to be served. Mary put the baby down in the bassinette and looked over at Dago.

"John, would you like to say grace?" She shifted her attention to the church ladies, looking as though she were speaking of royalty. "He's a priest."

They looked surprised but impressed and everyone was looking at him expectantly. I watched the color rise in his cheeks. "Uh…oh…of course."

I stifled my laughter, never failing to be completely amused by his shyness, as he blessed the food and thanked God that Karen had come into the world safely and that mother and child were both doing well. I could tell that Mary was pleased by his blessing.

After lunch, the visitors began to drop off like flies. Dad was the first to go, rambling on about needing to do something on the farm, which I interpreted as needing a nap. Mary's mother and the church ladies left next, afraid of getting stranded if the snow started falling again, and shortly after that Cynthia and Patty headed off as well.

"Oh," Mary sighed as the last of the guests left. "I don't know about you two, but I need a nap! I think Karen and I are going to go lay down for a little while. You'll put the leftovers away, won't you, Hawkeye?"

"Of course, dear."

Mary kissed her finger and pressed it against my lips before she collected the baby and headed off towards the bedroom. Dago and I cleaned up the kitchen, then went outside for another smoke before we settled back in the living room. I poured us both a generous amount of scotch and we settled on the couch while the boys played on the floor in front of the television set.

"I promise, you probably won't see them again before we go to Jersey," I teased. "Well, except for Dad. He usually stops by every day."

Dago gave me a tired smile but didn't say anything.

"How is it you can stand in front of a hundred people and preach, but being in a room with a dozen people makes you nervous?"

"These weren't just people, Hawkeye, they were your family."

"Yeah, but that should make you less nervous not more."

He gave me an incredulous look.

"No one had a clue, Dago. But if you don't start to loosen up a little, people will wonder what's wrong with you. You're already too quiet as it."

Dago snorted and finished off his glass of scotch. I poured him another one and we continued to drink and watch television. I glanced over at him a few times and saw that his eyes were closed, but it wasn't until his glass started tipping sideways that I knew he was asleep. I smiled and took his glass from his fingers. His hand twitched, but he otherwise didn't stir. I sank down further on the couch and rested my own head back, closing my eyes and shortly following him into a light afternoon snooze.

When I woke up, Dago and the boys were gone, but Mary and Karen had taken Dago's place and the baby was currently suckling one of my wife's perfect tits. "Careful with those, they're only on loan to you."

Mary laughed but swatted at me. "Leave her alone. I'll nurse her 'til she leaves home if I want to."

"Oh, Christ…please don't." I yawned and wiped sleep from my eyes before moving closer to Mary and watching the baby eat. "Where's Dago and the boys?"

"Outside. They wanted to go sledding so John offered to watch them." Mary looked at me and smiled. "He really is a fine man, Hawkeye. How he ever got mixed up with someone like you is beyond me."

"You were a nice girl too, 'til you met me."

"Hmm. That is true. He's just so shy. He blushes every time anyone even looks at him."

I laughed. "I know. I had him almost broken of that back in Korea, but I guess all this time without me was enough for him to slip back into his shell. He's still a lot better than he used to be. He used to talk in barely more than a whisper, at least now he's actually audible."

"Well, I think he's adorable. Looks and personality. Though I still don't like that you've besmirched a good priest."

"You do remember he kissed me first, right?"

"Speaking of kissing…" I knew that tone.

"Oh, God…what?"

"Oh, hush, you. I was going to ask if you thought he'd mind me watching you two kiss? I'm curious as to what it looks like when two men do that."

"It's a kiss, Mary. I'm sure it looks the same as when anyone kisses. And, knowing Dago, he'd probably die of embarrassment and guilt."

"What does he feel guilty about?"

"He's a Catholic, name me something he doesn't feel guilty about." She gave me a reproachful look. "It just bothers him that you're okay with us, that I'm dividing my time between you two now…he still considers this infidelity of our marriage bed."

"Well, good for him. I'm glad he has moral values."

"Yeah, it's just too bad they're wasted on amoral people like us."

"Speak for yourself, heathen." She teased, moving the baby off her breast and covering herself again. I kissed her deeply and she smiled at me.

The front door swung open and Tommy and Charlie spilled in through the front door, red faced and panting as they peeled off their snow boats, toboggans, scarves and coats, piling it all on the floor.

"Hey!" I hollered. "You weren't raised in a barn, put your stuff away. Where's Dago?"

"He's coming," Tommy answered.

"We were racing." Charlie said excitedly.

About that time Dago came through the front door, his cheeks just as red as the boys and just as out of breath. Mary and I both laughed and Charlie pointed at him, bouncing up and down. "We beat you! We beat you!"

"You sure did." Dago laughed, shrugging out of his coat.

"Boys, go wash your hands for supper." Mary told them.

Dago came and sat near us in one of the chairs. "I wish I had their energy."

"Thank you for keeping an eye on them, John."

"Oh, sure, it wasn't any trouble."

"Are you sure you want to go to Jersey with Hawkeye? I could use a good man around the house; one who isn't always sarcastic."

He blushed deeply. "Oh…well, I—"

Mary laughed. "I'm kidding, John."

Mary had warmed up some leftovers from lunch in the oven and I helped her set the table before we all sat down together. Mary asked Dago to pray over the meal once again, which he graciously obliged her, and the majority of dinner was spent in a two-way conversation between my lovers as they learned more about each other. It was strange watching them talk. Mary had been kind to Dago from the very start—after her initial anger when I'd told her, Mary had become quite inquisitive about Dago. Now he, too, seemed to be warming up to her and coming out of his shell a bit more.

When the boys excused themselves and went to the living room to watch the television, Mary started to get up to put the food away, but Dago stopped her.

"You sit there; Hawkeye and I will clean this up."

"Mmm… yeah…I'm keeping him, Hawkeye." Mary grinned at me.

We moved into the living room and settled down to watch television with the boys and I finally got to hold Karen longer than a few seconds while Mary and Dago continued to bond over stories of pranks I'd pulled on them in the past.

"The first time I saw Hawkeye lose a patient," Dago was saying, "I could see how upset he was. He was practically in tears as Trapper took him back over to the Swamp. As chaplain, it was my duty to try and console the personnel, so I went over to the Swamp to see if there was anything I could do, but they told me to get lost unless I had a bottle of scotch on me. I didn't have scotch, but I had a bottle of cognac in my tent, so I went and got that and brought it back. I thought Trapper was going to bodily remove me from the tent, but Hawkeye took the bottle from me and started drinking. They let me stay so long as I drank with them. Pretty soon we'd finished the cognac, and moved on to their homemade swill. I must have passed out, because the next thing I knew Radar—our company clerk—was waking me up. I couldn't move and, for a minute, I thought I'd been paralyzed, but I realized that Hawkeye and Trapper had wrapped me up in gauze from head to toe like a mummy and stuck me to the cot using surgical tape. They'd also apparently hung a sign out front of the tent advertising for people to see a Pickled Priest for a nickel."

"Hawkeye!" Mary smacked my arm.

"Hey! I'm holding a baby here."

"Why would you do something like that? Not that I'm surprised, but shame on you!"

"Oh come on, we didn't hurt him. We could have tried to crucify him like we did Shaking Sammy."

"Cruci…oh, Jesus, I married the antichrist." Mary sighed forlornly, and even Dago laughed at her comment. "Do I even want to know about what you did to this Sammy guy?"

I recapped the story of Shaking Sammy for Mary; about how the man was an absolute nuisance and more of menace with good intentions than anything else. I told her how we'd tied him to the cross and made it look as if we were going to burn him alive. "Trapper threw the Molotov cocktail and we ran off, so I didn't see anything after that. But I do remember hearing Sammy screaming like a little girl, and I remember Dago being absolutely furious with us afterwards."

"I still am." Dago corrected. "After you threw the 'bomb' myself and about 6 others took a dive for it. I realized as soon as we put the flames on the rag out that it was just water. Henry nearly had you three court-martialed for that, and Sammy was in full support of it, but I was the one who convinced them not to contact the MP's."

"You should have let them get arrested," Mary said, looking at me with a heated expression. "You've done some truly terrible things, Hawkeye, but that's about the worst I've ever heard."

"Oh, come on. I did worse things in high school." I countered.

"Name one thing that's worse than immolating a chaplain on the cross?"

I chuckled, "Okay, when you say it like that, it does kind of top the list. But what about Chipmunk?"

"It's a wonder that boy ever called you a friend."

"Who is Chipmunk?" Dago asked.

"A kid I knew back in high school. He was a little on the slow side, and was really odd looking. Had this pointed face like a chipmunk. Being captain of the football team, I was pretty popular in school. Myself and my best friend 'Me Lay' Marston set the standards as far as pranks went, and Chipmunk was kind of our primary target. Even as mean as we were to him, I would help Chipmunk with his homework and stuff after school and he and I kind of became friends. After that we stopped pulling pranks on him and he several other kids started making friends with him. I guess we kind of made him popular."

Dago was shaking his head at me.

"Starting to rethink your attraction for him, aren't you?" Mary teased.

"I'm almost disappointed that nothing surprises me about you anymore, Hawkeye."

I grinned at him.

Around 9pm, Mary went to feed the baby and I went to put the boys in the bath, leaving Dago alone in the living room while we went about our normal routine. Once the boys were washed, dried and in their pajamas, I tucked them into their beds, reading a chapter of Charlotte's Web until they were both asleep.

Mary was in the bath by the time I resurfaced, but Dago was nowhere in sight. I noticed his coat wasn't hanging by the front door, so I knew he must have gone outside, and I figured he was probably having a smoke. I ventured in through the kitchen and out on the back porch, finding him sitting on the steps with his cigarette. He looked back at me over his shoulder and smiled.

"Sorry to have abandoned you." I said, sitting next to him.

"It was for a good enough reason."

"How are you doing? Had enough of all this yet?"

"No," he laughed. "It's still weird being here with you and your wife and your kids, but it's okay. Your wife is a very kind and generous woman. It's obvious she loves you very much."

"Yeah, well, I think she's starting to fall in love with you, too. I don't think she was kidding when she said she wanted to keep you." I told him with a laugh. "She adores you, just like I do."

I saw him smile softly, tucking his chin a little as he blushed. I moved my hand to his face, lifting his chin and drawing him to me until our lips met. The kiss was soft and slow and I felt his lips part before his tongue gently pushed into my mouth. His lips and the tip of his nose were cold from having been outside for the last few minutes, but his tongue was slightly warm and wet and felt so good as it leisurely traveled around my mouth.

"I love kissing you," I murmured as he pulled back gently. "I wish I never had to stop."

"We'd look a little silly being attached at the lip." He joked.

The door creaked open behind us and Mary stepped out, bundled up in a robe and her coat, her hair wrapped up in a towel. She grabbed the top of my head, pulling it back until I was looking up at her and bent down to give me a kiss on the lips. She moved over to Dago and kissed the top of his head, then sat down on the steps next to him.

"Mind if I sit out here with you boys for a while?"

"Aren't you cold?" Dago asked, surprised at Mary's lack of appropriate clothing.

"A bit, but I like it." She grinned at him. "I've always had this fantasy about making love in the snow."

Dago blushed furiously and I laughed.

"I'm sorry," Mary chuckled. "I keep forgetting you're a priest. I'll bet you've never heard such tawdry things as you have from Hawkeye…and now me."

"Oh, on the contrary. People feel it necessary to confess in absolute detail sometimes."

"Oh really?" I asked, completely enthralled now. "Examples?"

"I can't divulge what I hear in confession, Hawkeye, you know that."

"You don't have to say who, Dago…just give us a what."

"I'm not sure I can do that either." He shook his head. "A confession is strictly confidential. I'm supposed to take other people's secrets to my grave."

"Spoilsport."

"I'm not sure I could do your job, John." Mary said, taking a cigarette from his pack. Dago lit it for her. "Hearing all the things you must hear…doesn't it ever drive you crazy that you can't tell anyone?"

"Only when it involves sins that I can't absolve, or when I feel like the person could be in trouble."

"Like Painless," I said.

"Yes, like Painless." Dago nodded, looking over at me. "That's the one and only time I ever sought someone else's help with a confession."

"Painless?" Mary asked.

"Painless Pole Waldowski." I said, puffing my own cigarette. "Our dentist at the 4077th. I told you about him."

"Oh, right. The guy with the huge—"

"Yes, that's him." Dago cut her off, his face so red it was probably giving off heat.

Mary and I both laughed.

"In a true confession the priest and the confessor are in separate compartments of the confessional booth. I never see the person who confesses and they don't see me while they're confessing. It's easier to listen without bias that way, and once the confession is over you really don't think about it anymore because you have no idea who it was. As a chaplain though, I was often face to face with those who came to confession, so every time I saw them afterwards, I was constantly reminded of what they'd told me. It made it quite difficult sometimes because I would absolve them of whatever sin they confessed to, but then I would witness them repeating the same sin, in which they would come back later and try to repent again. It was a little frustrating at times."

"You should have toyed around with those people and told them that God has 3 strikes and you're out rule."

"That would have been an abuse of my power," Dago said, though he chuckled. "But, believe me, I was tempted. There are enough verses in Revelations to put the fear of God into most people, but I'll leave the fire and brimstone act to the Baptists."

Mary leaned back against the top step, looking at me behind Dago's back with a sultry expression. I raised my eyebrows at her, recognizing that she was somehow turned on by something. I knew it was too soon for her to have sex, but I found myself aroused by her arousal and wondered what she was thinking. Her eyes shifted to Dago and she nodded her head towards him, and then I knew what she was wanting me to do.

I tried not to grin impishly as I put out my cigarette slid my arm across Dago's shoulders. He looked at me curiously just I pulled him towards me, intent to kiss him. I saw his eyes go wide in shock, very aware that Mary was beside him.

"Hawk—" I cut him off with my lips against his. He tried to pull back, but I held onto the back of his head and he sighed through his nose before finally giving in and letting me kiss him thoroughly. I knew if we'd been smoking pot or drinking, his inhibitions would have been lower and he might have kissed me back more enthusiastically, but as it was he was too focused on our audience.

Dago finally broke away from my kiss and stood up, stepping off the porch, his shoulders tense as he kept his back to us. "I can't do this…"

"John," Mary said softly, standing up and taking his hand as she stood in front of him. "I want to see you two together. Really. It's okay. Look…come here…"

I watched her pull him back over to the steps, making him kneel on the step below me as she sat next to us. Mary smiled at me, grabbing the lapel of my jacket and hauling me towards her before she kissed me rather deeply. I'd instinctively closed my eyes when kissing her, but I could feel Dago looking away. When Mary pulled back, she looked at him. "Now you…go on. Kiss him."

I certainly wasn't objecting to this kind of attention, but Dago's discomfort took away from the enjoyment a bit and I wished I could reassure him. I reached up and touched his face, stroking his cold cheek with my thumb. "It's okay, baby."

He looked at Mary briefly, seeing her smile, a look of uncertainty still on his face as he put his hands on my knees, taking a deep breath, and hesitantly leaned up to kiss me. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer and deepened the kiss. After a minute, Dago slowly pulled back, not meeting either of our eyes.

Mary giggled softly, "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"I wouldn't say that," I teased, grinning and letting my legs fall open a little bit on either side of Dago, to show them both how hard I was.

"I…uh…I should probably go to bed." Dago said, his face looking like it could melt ice.

"Oh, don't go yet, John." Mary said with a slight pout. "We'll behave ourselves, I promise."

Dago reluctantly stayed, though he stood up and chose to lean against the rail as he lit another cigarette. Mary sat on the step he vacated and leaned back against me. I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and we both looked at him as he refused to look at us.

"This must be very strange for you, John." Mary said softly.

"It's certainly not ordinary," he murmured, still not looking at us.

"I want you to be comfortable around me," Mary told him seriously. "You don't have to pretend there's nothing between you and Hawkeye."

"It isn't that," Dago said, finally looking at her. "I just feel that being affectionate with him in front of you is inappropriate."

"Why? I think it's sweet…and quite sexy."

Dago looked mortified as he tried to find some way to respond to Mary's comment.

I chuckled in amusement. "Tread lightly, gorgeous," I warned Mary, knowing that if she pushed him too hard, he might crack under the pressure and beat us both senseless with his Bible.

"I'm just saying," she elbowed me in the ribs, looking at him, "that it's okay if you want to hug him or kiss him or whatever when I'm around."

"I hope you'll understand if I don't," Dago told her softly, looking at us both.

He finished his cigarette, blew the smoke out of the side of his mouth and crammed his hands in his pockets as an awkward silence fell over us.

"I really should be getting to bed," he finally said in another attempt to escape the situation.

Mary sighed softly, disappointed, "I suppose we all should."

I helped her to her feet and she smiled sweetly at Dago. "Good night, John."

"Good night."

"I'll be there in a minute," I called after her as she headed for the door. I waited until she'd gone inside before I moved to Dago, and pressed him back against the rail with my body, leaning in to kiss him just as he slipped his hands inside my jacket and up the back of my sweater, making me jump. "Jesus! Fuck! Your hands are cold."

He withdrew them from my shirt with a quiet laugh. "Sorry."

"It's okay," I brushed his slightly chapped lips with mine. "You okay?"

"Not really," he said softly, burying his face against my neck. "I feel very strange about being with you in front of her. It just feels so wrong."

"I know, but it isn't. Not to us anyways. I think it excites her to see us together."

He groaned as if in agony and I couldn't help but laugh a little as I stood there holding him.

"I know you feel uncomfortable expressing your feelings with me, but does her being with me make you uncomfortable too?"

"A little," he admitted, lifting his head and looking in my eyes with a sheepish expression. "But it's perfectly natural for the two of you to show your affections for each other."

"But not for you and me?"

"Not publically."

"I hardly call Mary 'the public.'"

"You know what I mean, Hawkeye."

"I do, but I'm telling you it's okay."

"We have very different ideas about what's okay."

"Don't I know it," I laughed and kissed him. "If you ever do find yourself okay with it, let me know…I'm dying to have a threesome with you and her."

His eyes nearly bugged out of his head, "Hawkeye!"

I threw my head back and laughed loudly.

"You are utterly depraved, you know that, right?"

I grinned, "Yeah, but you were the one sucking my dick last night."

He glared at me, though his cheeks burned crimson once again. "You really are an ass sometimes."

I gave him a lingering kiss, making him breathless and weak in my arms, and as payback I slipped my own cold hand up the back of his sweater, making him gasp and arch his back. I laughed, taking my hand away and hugged him tightly.

"That wasn't very nice."

"No, but it was funny."

He gave me a light shove, muttering again about how much of an ass I was.

"Come on, baby; let's go inside. I'm freezing my balls off out here."

"Not yet, you aren't." There was a mischievous lilt to his voice and I saw that playful gleam in his eye a second before his hands went for the front of my pants.

"Oh, fuck no!" I grabbed for his wrists, fighting him off and he laughed as he fought back, trying to get at least one hand down my pants. "Dago, I swear to God I will kill you if you touch my balls with your frozen hands."

He was laughing, sounding quite pleased with himself, but stopped. "Alright, alright. I won't touch you."

"Well, just don't touch me there with those ice cubes you call fingers." I grinned and we climbed the few steps on the back porch and went inside. "The shower's all yours if you want it, babe. Unless you want me to join you."

He gave me a stern look. "I'm pretty sure I can manage alone, Hawkeye."

"Spoilsport." I said again, smirking softly as I walked with him to the guest room. "Feel free to sleep in in the morning. We probably will."

"Alright. Goodnight, Hawkeye."

I leaned in and kissed him goodnight, then went to my bedroom, where Mary was sitting up in bed, pretending to read a book. I pulled off my sweater and started to take off my pants. "How long were you watching us through the window after you came in?"

"Long enough," she smirked triumphantly, closing her book. "It's such a shame he feels like he can't love on you around me. I can see how much he cares for you and it just makes me love him to pieces."

"That's just Dago for you, honey." I slipped out of my boxers and pulled on my flannel bottoms instead, sliding in next to her in the bed. "He's completely ruled by his religion."

"It's not just a religious stance, Hawkeye," she said thoughtfully. "He's very old fashioned. I mean, you heard how he addressed everyone today, Mister this, Misses that, yes ma'am, no sir. He has manners, standards even."

"Maybe, but I think he gets all his 'standards' from the Bible."

"There's nothing wrong with that." Mary said sharply. "Just because you're a Godless wretch doesn't mean you have to mock someone else's beliefs."

"Who's mocking? It's an observation. I just think he takes the Bible a little too seriously."

"He's a _priest_ , you idiot; of course he does!"

"You know, there's no need for name calling." I said in a pseudo hurt voice.

Mary laughed and hit me in the arm. "Oh shut up and kiss me, you stupid lug head."

"That's just uncalled for," I teased as I pulled her down in the bed and claimed her lips.

 

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulcahy's POV.

Sunlight was streaming in through the curtains over the window in the room I was occupying, seeming to hit me right in the eyes no matter which way I turned, and I finally gave up on sleep. I picked up my watch from the nightstand, squinting tiredly at the hands on the face and discovering that it was about 9:30. I remembered Hawkeye had said they would be 'sleeping in' but I wasn't really sure what that meant here. In Korea, 'sleeping in' had no real correlation to actual time.

Rather than sit in the room wondering when they would all wake up, I decided to get dressed and, if nothing else, smoke a cigarette. Being here with Hawkeye was much more nerve-wracking than I'd originally anticipated. I wasn't sure what I had expected as far as the reception I might receive from his wife, but the invitation to openly display my affection for Hawkeye had never crossed my mind…nor had her obvious interest of seeing us together.

While I appreciated her acceptance, I couldn't bring myself to take her up on the offer.

As I ventured out, I was surprised to find Mary sitting in the living room darning a pile of socks. The bassinette was set up in front of her on some type of rocker, which Mary was moving with her foot to rock the baby. She looked up as I entered the room and smiled prettily at me.

"Good morning, John. Sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you. How are you, Mary?"

"Oh, just fine. Benji came over and stole Hawkeye and the boys for a while, so I hope you don't mind being abandoned with me."

My stomach roiled nervously. "No…that's okay. Is…uh…there anything I can do for you?"

"You're a guest, John; just relax." She cast her eyes over at me as I sat in an arm chair, her lips quirking up in a smirk. "I think you looked better in Hawkeye's clothes."

I looked down at my black trousers and the only pullover I owned—a two-toned green thing that was vaguely reminiscent of the G.I. olive drab color used by the army. "Oh…well, I think I mentioned that I don't own a lot of casual clothes."

"Hawkeye's got plenty; go raid his closet. Or at least put on the jeans you wore yesterday. They looked nice on you."

I got up, excusing myself, and went to put on the jeans as requested. Jeans were certainly far more casual than anything I owned, but I had to admit that they were quite comfortable to wear. I threaded a belt through the belt loops, trying to at least look a little more presentable than like a total greaser, and returned to the living room.

"Much better." She grinned. "As far as I'm concerned, you can keep those. Hawkeye can make a 3 piece suit look informal; he doesn't need to wear jeans."

I laughed quietly in agreement. "That's the truth."

"So, John, can I ask you something a little personal?"

The knots in my stomach cinched a little tighter. "Um…sure. I suppose."

"Not _that_ personal," she said with a wink. "I was just curious why someone like you might be attracted to someone like Hawkeye. We both know he's just about the most uncouth individual in the world, and you're completely the opposite . You couldn't be more opposite really."

I could feel my ears turning red, and I suddenly wanted to be anywhere but there. "I…uh…I'm not sure I can talk about this with you, Mary."

"Why not? If anyone would understand your attraction for him, I think it would be me, right? I am married to that oaf, after all."

"Exactly," I said guiltily. "You're _married_ to him."

"Yes, and as his wife I'm asking you why you're attracted to my husband."

I'll hand it to her…she certainly knew how to strike to make me feel obligated to answer her. I sighed in resignation, knowing there was no use arguing. "I honestly don't know. He's just a very likeable person. Friendly and funny, kindhearted, confident…He seems to be very complex even though he doesn't intend to be. I called him an enigma once."

She laughed softly, then spoke thoughtfully. "I think he's different with you than he's ever been with me."

"How so?"

"He's very…well…loving is the only word to describe it really. He's never been the kind of man who said 'I love you' without any real reason for it. He's a very caring person, obviously, and I love him deeply, but there's a tenderness he shows you that I've never seen."

My guilt intensified.

"Don't get me wrong, he is tender with me, but there's always that layer of sarcasm, always a joke on hand. He couldn't be serious if his life depended on it. By now that's normal to me, _that's_ Hawkeye, and I've learned to just give as good as I get with him—which is why he and I work so well together. But I love watching him with you…it's just very sweet. And I love how much you care for him. The way you look at him…like he's the most precious thing in the world to you…"

My blush was deepening more and more with every word and I looked down at the floor in complete embarrassment. "How can you be alright with this, Mary?"

"Because I know Hawkeye, and I trust him; and I love him. He would never do anything to intentionally hurt me or the kids in any way, and I know he never meant for this kind of thing to happen. Plus, the more he told me about you, the more I came to like you myself, and I'd never even met you. You just seemed so wonderful, and now that I have met you, I see that you really are. You're a gem, John; truly."

I wasn't sure what an appropriate response was at this point. It seemed a little belated to apologize to her for committing adultery with her husband, and it was certainly inappropriate to thank her for allowing this to continue. Luckily, she filled the silence seamlessly.

"So it wasn't his looks that first attracted you?"

I blushed. "No. I've always been able to appreciate the aesthetic appearance of both men and women without feeling desire for them; Hawkeye wasn't really an exception. Though once I realized my feelings, I appreciated his looks a bit more."

"I've heard Hawkeye's version of when you both figured out you liked each other, what's your story?"

"I…" I couldn't tell her that without giving her background details that involved Danny, and I wasn't sure we were on that level of camaraderie just yet. She looked up from the sock in her hand at my hesitation. "It was just really sudden. The way he touched me one day. It was all completely innocent really."

She smiled and looked back at her sock. "I must be shallow. What attracted me to Hawkeye was his looks. And it didn't hurt that he was captain of the football team. His friend Me Lay had the biggest crush on me in high school and he always kept asking me out, but I really wanted Hawkeye to ask me out. Me Lay ended up asking me to the prom and when I turned him down, he told Hawkeye to ask me to see if it was just him I wouldn't go out with. Hawkeye, of course, had no idea how much I liked him and I'm not sure he really even wanted to go to prom with me, but when I said yes, he knew he was stuck. I think prom night was the night he fell in love with me, though. My mom spent a whole week making me this beautiful dress and she took me to the beauty shop to get my hair curled. I felt like a princess, and every girl in school was talking about how Hawkeye had asked me to prom. It was just such a magical night for me. He didn't even pull one prank that night, if you can believe it."

I found myself completely enchanted with her story, glad that they two of them had been together for so long, though still feeling the underlying guilt that I was stumbling block in their marriage. "I'm assuming that 'Me Lay' isn't his real name?"

She laughed. "No, his name is Ezekiel Marston. He got the nickname 'Me Lay' because anytime he was trying to flirt with a girl, he would say 'Me Lay, You Lay.' So, whenever a group of girls would see him someone would say, 'Look out, here comes 'Me Lay' Marston.' It just kind of stuck.

I laughed at the story and for a moment we lapsed into silence.

"Where did 'Dago Red' come from?" Mary asked curiously. "Hawkeye just said it was a name you picked up in seminary."

"Oh, yes… I was in seminary during the years of the Depression, and to try and save on expenses, the church started to use Dago Red wine for the Eucharist. One day when I was asked to help present Mass, I was incredibly nervous because—of course—I'd never done it before. My friend…" My throat closed as I tried to say Danny's name and I suddenly felt choked with emotion, remembering that my friend was now lost to me forever. The grief threatened to swallow me and I continued the story on a more somber note. "My friend, Danny, was trying to help me relax so he told me to drink some of the wine. If you've never had Dago Red wine, you don't know how incredibly potent it can be. I quickly became so drunk that Danny had to tell everyone I'd taken ill. He was the one who gave me the nickname as a teasing reminder of that day."

"He's the one that passed away, isn't he?" Her voice was soft and kind.

I nodded. "He was killed in the Philippines shortly before we were to be released from the army."

"I'm so sorry, John."

I closed my eyes, trying to will away the thoughts of what his last moments must have been like. The memory of Danny suddenly made me feel very melancholy and I found myself thinking about the last time I'd seen him. Not for the first time, I wondered what I might have done differently if I'd known I would never see him again. Seeing how much he'd changed over the course of the war had made me look forward to rekindling our friendship again, but now I'd never have that chance. As Hawkeye had told me, though, at least we were able to make amends before he died.

It occurred to me that I could have been sent to the Philippines rather than Danny. I could have been the one who'd been killed. If that had been the case, would Hawkeye have ever known? Would he think I'd simply lost touch? How would he react when he found out? How would I react if something happened to him? Death had a tendency of making the living appreciate life a little more. It reminded us how precious time with loved ones was.

I looked up at Mary, "Are you sure you'd rather stay here than go back to New Jersey with him? He's been home less than a year…"

"I know," she said with a sad little smile. "But during the week, there really wasn't much time we got to spend together anyways. The hospital shifts are long and he comes home dog tired. The apartment is too small for all of us and I can't bring myself to raise a baby in that slum. We'll see each other on the weekends and in a year and a half he'll be back here. The kids will be happier here. I'll be happier here. I was so depressed in that apartment, even being with Hawkeye. We had no friends, no family…"

There was another lapse in conversation as we were both wrapped up in our own thoughts.

"John…what do you intend to do now? How long will you stay with him?"

"I don't know quite yet," I admitted. "I'm using this time to figure that out. I had thought about doing missionary work again, but the thought of being overseas again, of starting all over _again_ …I'm not sure my heart is where it needs to be right now. This year has been a real test of my faith. I just don't feel…needed."

"If there's anything I can do to help…"

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

"If you makes you feel better, I think Hawkeye needs you more than anyone right now. He's missed you."

"I've missed him, too…"

It was early afternoon before Hawkeye and his boys returned home, and Mary busied herself in the kitchen to make them a late lunch. Hawkeye had taken to lying on the couch, kicking his feet up as he looked at me tiredly.

"How's your day been, baby?"

"Good. We've just mostly talked."

"I'm sorry I left you alone all day. Dad wanted to go into Portland to look at some fishing rig."

"It's alright. I'm glad you're back, but Mary and I were getting along just fine."

"Oh yeah? Feeling a little less uneasy?"

"I think so. Just don't start trying to…you know…do stuff with me around her."

He laughed loudly. "So you're not over that part of it then?"

I blushed. "No. It still feels inappropriate."

He laughed again. "Okay, I'll keep my hands and lips to myself for now.

After lunch, Hawkeye and I took the boys into town to a park where children and adults alike were skating on the surface of a frozen pond. Some people had ice skates, others just their regular shoes or snow boots. We found an unoccupied bench to sit on while the boys went out on the ice, and Hawkeye sat a little closer than necessary on such a long bench…not that I truly minded.

"Crabapple Cove really is a sleepy little town, isn't it?" I commented as we watched the people on the pond.

"Finest kind." Hawkeye smiled. "What do you think of it?"

"Other than being a little too cold and a little too much snow on the ground, it's nice. I'm sure it's quite beautiful when the seasons change. San Diego doesn't really have any true seasons. The weather stays pretty consistent year round, though we do have the 'May Gray' and the 'June Gloom' when the fog rolls in and stays for those two months. I never really even saw snow until I went to seminary."

"That sounds depressing."

I laughed. "It wasn't so bad. The ocean was right there, but I never spent much time on the beach. I'm actually a little afraid of the water."

"Why? Can't you swim?"

"Oh, sure, I love to swim…in swimming pools, but not so much in lakes, rivers or oceans where I can't see the bottom or know that there are creatures bigger than me who might like to snack on me."

Hawkeye roared with laughter. "Sharks? You're afraid of sharks?"

I shrugged.

"Baby, how many people do you know who have ever been eaten by a shark?"

"Well…none…but, I'd rather not take my chances."

He was still laughing and shaking his head at me. "For someone who's been followed by a demon half his life, sharks seem like a silly fear."

"We all have fears, Hawkeye, some may seem silly or irrational to others, but that doesn't make them less real to the person who's afraid."

"I don't have any fears."

"I find that hard to believe. Everyone is afraid of _something_."

He thought long and hard for a minute. "I think the only thing I'm afraid of is failure. Failing at being a doctor, saving someone's life; failing at being a good father, a good lover."

"I don't think your wife and children have any complaints about that."

He looked at me with burning curiosity. "What about you?"

I felt my cheeks go warm as I blushed. "I'm the last person who would ever consider you a failure, Hawkeye. In any respect."

He looked like he wanted to kiss me, but being in the middle of a crowded park stayed him from doing so. He settled for resting his hand on the back of my neck as he looked back out at the pond. "Have you ever ice skated, Dago?"

"No."

"Jesus, haven't you ever done _anything_ fun? Come on…" he stood up and grabbed my hand, pulling me to my feet. "Today you're learning how to ice skate."

I laughed softly, but let him pull me out towards the edge of the pond. He stepped from the snow to the ice and turned to face me, taking my other hand. A few people standing around the edge were giving us funny looks and I felt wholly embarrassed. Hawkeye just looked at them. "First timer."

They laughed, seeming to accept this as good enough reason for him to be holding my hands, and Hawkeye refocused his attention on me. "It's a little slick, so just step out carefully."

I tentatively put one foot on the ice and almost immediately felt it slipping out from under me. I overcorrected to keep my balance and slid into Hawkeye, whose hands tightened on mine, one arm going around me to keep me from falling. He and several others who were still watching laughed, deepening my embarrassment.

"Told you," he grinned, slowly removing his arm from around me. I moved a little more slowly and a little more stiffly as I grew accustomed to sliding on the ice beneath my feet. Hawkeye held onto my hands, sliding along backwards as I shuffled my feet forward, staring down at them. He laughed softly. "Dago, stop looking at your feet."

I looked up at him, but kept glancing down at the ice every few steps, making him laugh harder. After a few minutes he let go of my hands and turned back around, moving along the ice next to me with far more grace than I was. When my feet nearly slipped out from under me a second time, I reached over and grabbed his arm to steady myself but ended up throwing him off balance and we both started slipping. Hawkeye's foot found an exceptionally slippery part of the ice and he fell hard on the ice, dragging me down with him.

Hawkeye was laying on his back, laughing gaily, and obviously not bothered by the fall, but I could feel the wetness of the ice bleeding through my jeans, making me cold and wet. I carefully pushed myself back on my feet, regaining my balance, but not offering my hand to Hawkeye, least I get pulled down again. He grinned up at me. "This is a little easier with ice skates."

"I'll take your word for it." I said, trying to stay completely still as Hawkeye got to his feet effortlessly. Tommy and Charlie skated up to us; with Charlie sliding on his knees straight into my leg, making me lose my balance once again and I nearly fell on top of the poor child, but twisted myself around so that I somehow managed to land beside him instead.

"Geez, Charlie, what's the matter with you!" Hawkeye jerked Charlie to his feet, then looked back at me, offering me his hand. "You okay, Dago?"

"I don't think I'll be asked to join the Ice Capades any time soon." I said as he pulled me back to my feet.

He laughed softly, brushing ice off of me. "Anything broken or bruised?"

"Just my pride."

Charlie apologized for knocking me down, then the two boys skated off again as Hawkeye and I continued even more slowly around the edge of the ice. My earlier conversation with Mary filtered to the top of my thoughts and I glanced over at Hawkeye.

"Hey, Hawk…? How long do you want me to stay with you in New Jersey?"

"As long as you want," he said, shrugging a little as he put his hands in his pocket. "I'd be okay if you never left."

"Well, that might get a little strange when you finish your residency and return home permanently. As accommodating as your wife is, I'm not sure she could handle a live-in lover. I'm not sure I could handle that."

He sighed softly, "How long do you want to stay?"

"At least until I figure out where to go from here."

He was quiet for a long minute. "What happens to us when you figure out what to do?"

"I don't know." I admitted in a hushed voice.

Hawkeye and I were both very quiet from that point on for the rest of the day. He looked moody and sullen during dinner, which Mary noticed but didn't comment on. None of us spoke as we sat in the living room watching the television, but Hawkeye had poured us both a drink without asking if I wanted one.

I knew I had upset him with all my unknowns, but I needed to know what his expectations for the future were. I didn't want to find myself overstaying my welcome, or have him feel like I was a freeloader. I should have known, though, that Hawkeye's expectations would have been unrealistic. Even if Mary was comfortable with a permanent arrangement between the three of us, I wasn't. I felt as though I was already subjecting his children to perversion, even though I would never allow myself or Hawkeye to display any affection in front of them, but I'd brought this sin into their house. And I certainly didn't want his daughter growing up wondering why her daddy sometimes shared a bed with another man. No, it simply wasn't an option.

The biggest question still remained: What happened to us after I made up my mind and left Crabapple Cove? I think, despite however much we both still loved each other, Hawkeye and I both feared that once I left, our relationship would suffer. Even if we managed to see each other a couple of times a year, would that be enough to sustain either of us?

After several hours of silence filled only with the sound from the television, Mary told the boys to go to their room and play for a while before bed; that the grown-ups needed to talk. They obeyed without complaint, obviously feeling the tension in the room like the rest of us. Once we were alone, Mary looked from me to Hawkeye and back again.

"Alright, you two, what's happened? You haven't spoken nary a word to each other since you got home."

"Some of us aren't Chatty Cathie's like you women-folk." Hawkeye said, draining his whiskey before he got up, grabbed his coat and went outside.

Mary gave me an exasperated look, obviously looking to me for an explanation.

"I asked him what his expectations were for me staying in New Jersey—how long he wanted me there—and he mentioned that he didn't care if I stuck around permanently. When I told him that wasn't an option, he asked what would happen to us once I did move on and figure out what to do next and I told him I didn't know. I suppose he didn't care much for that answer."

"No, I don't suppose he did." Mary agreed, sighing softly.

"I should probably go out and try and talk to him, figure something out with him."

Mary nodded. "I'll go feed the baby and put the boys to bed. Don't let him sucker you, John."

I laughed softly, "I'll do my best."

I slipped my shoes on, grabbed my coat and followed Hawkeye's trail out the door, seeing his footprints in the snow leading down towards the water. Though it was dark, the snow was glistening brightly in the moonlight, providing me with enough illumination to see where I was going. Hawkeye was laying on his back in the snow bank, looking up at the sky as he smoked a cigarette and I moved to sit next to him.

"Penny." I said softly, taking his hand in mine.

"I don't want you to go." He said, squeezing my hand.

"I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, Hawkeye. I promise."

"Yeah, but eventually you will, Dago."

"That's true; eventually I will, but I'm not in any hurry. And it doesn't mean we have to let it ruin the time we've got together now."

"Yeah…I know. I just hate thinking about it, and now that it's out there in the open I can't stop thinking about it and I just…I don't want you to go."

I leaned down and gently pressed my lips to his, kissing him softly. "Still thinking about it?"

"Yes." He sulked.

I kissed him again, this time a little deeper and a little longer. "How about now?"

"Starting not to," he murmured less sulkily, smashing his cigarette out in the snow and reaching up to lightly grasp the back of my head and pull me down to his lips again. His other arm encircled my waist, drawing me close to him as he effortlessly laid me on my back and rolled himself on top of me. The snow was cold and wet beneath me and I shivered as it seeped through my clothes, though his warm breath felt good across my face. We took turns sucking each other's tongues and lips sensually, mimicking what we might do to each other on other parts of our bodies.

I was breathless with arousal, but chilled to the bone from the cold. "Hawkeye, I'm going to freeze to death."

"No you won't," he said, kissing my neck. "You would start out with a little frost nip on your extremities—fingers, toes, tip of your nose and any other exposed skin. Then it goes into a second-degree stage of frost bite when the skin freezes and blisters start to appear. That usually happens after a couple of days of prolonged exposure to cold, when the blood vessels start to freeze. After that, your muscles and nerves and tendons will start to freeze…but it would still take a while for you to die from exposure. And I have no intention of us staying out here long enough for any of that to happen."

Oddly enough, as he described the process of freezing to death, his hand had managed to undo my pants and I found myself almost complete aroused. He brought his hand to his mouth and breathed into it, warming his skin before his lips found mine and his hand slipped into the front of my pants. I gasped into his mouth as his fingertips were still extraordinarily cold, but he began to rub my erection, making me quickly forget any temporary discomfort.

I suddenly remembered what Mary had said the night before about having sexual fantasies of making love in the snow and I couldn't help but laugh, even as I blushed, at the irony that I was living out her fantasy.

"What are you laughing at?" Hawkeye asked, raking his teeth across my ear lobe.

I shivered in pleasure, "Have you ever made love to Mary in the snow?"

"No," he answered, sounding surprised by my question. "Why?"

"She's the one with the snow fantasy; this should be her instead of me."

"Are you offering to make her dream come true?" He teased, his hand still wrapped around my erection, pumping up and down rhythmically.

"I'll leave that in your capable hands."

He laughed softly and reclaimed my lips, squeezing me a little tighter and jerking me a little faster. I closed my eyes, kissing Hawkeye deeply and holding onto him as I let him stroke me to completion.

With so much stimuli around me—the chill of the wind, the bite of the snow, the warmth of his hand, the taste of his kiss—my synapses were in overdrive and it was all filtering into my pleasure center. It didn't take exceptionally long for me to climax. I broke away from his lips, crying out at the onset of my orgasm.

"Yeah, that's it, baby…" Hawkeye murmured against my ear. "I love making you cum."

I shuddered as I finished and he carefully extracted his hand, wiping it on the leg of my jeans. "Ugh! Hawkeye…"

He laughed. "What? It's your mess. And they're my jeans, so we're even."

"Actually, Mary told me to keep these."

"Oh, she did, did she?"

"She did," I nodded, doing up my pants and sitting up next to him. "She told me to 'raid your closet' as well, but I didn't do that."

He smiled as he looked at me and drew me into a kiss. "Come on, let's get back to the house. Now that you've made such a mess, you'll need some more clothes. Plus, you've been wearing those pants for a couple of days now."

I laughed and we got to our feet. Hawkeye took hold of my hand as we walked back to the house and I smiled softly, enjoying the feel of walking hand-in-hand with him without the fear of being seen. He pulled me into a lasting kiss as we reached the porch, knowing that I wouldn't let him do so once we crossed the threshold.

Hawkeye took me into his bedroom and instructed me to sit on the bed. I looked at it uncomfortably, but gingerly sat on the edge and watched him rummage through his closet. Whenever he found an article of clothing, he tossed it back at me and I laid it next to me on the bed.

Mary joined us a few minutes later, placing the sleeping baby in the bassinette next to her side of the bed and announcing to Hawkeye that the boys were down for the night.

"Thanks," he told her as she moved to the closet, looking over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

"Picking out some clothes for Dago since you told him to raid my closet."

She grinned over at me and I blushed. "Well, get out of the way and let me pick some things. If I leave it completely up to you, he's only going to end up with sweatshirts and jeans."

I looked at the small pile beside me, laughing softly as—indeed—every article was either a pair of jeans or a sweatshirt.

"He needs casual clothes, doesn't he?" Hawkeye argued.

"Yes, but you don't need to make him look like a louse." She shooed him away and began picking through his clothing, finding some nice but casual chinos, a few pullovers and even a few collared polo shirts.

"Is there anything left in my closet?" Hawkeye teased.

"Please," she scoffed. "Even if you wore half of what's in there, you'd never miss any of this."

"I'm sure I don't need all of this," I said meekly as she added the rest of the clothes to my pile.

"Nah, she's right, I never wear any of that, and it probably all looks better on you anyways."

I thanked them, though they assured me it wasn't necessary and Hawkeye helped me carry the load to the guest room where I folded everything and tucked them away while he laid on the bed watching me. The phone jangled somewhere in the other room and Hawkeye listened to see if Mary would answer it, which she did on the third ring.

"I wonder who's calling this time of the night," Hawkeye said as he sat up and swung his feet over the side of the bed.

About that time Mary poked her head in through the open doorway. "Telephone's for you, Hawkeye. It's Trapper."

I knew that, regardless of the reason for Trapper's call, it would probably be a lengthy conversation between the friends, so I gathered my shower things and decided to clean up since I was still soiled from our outdoor adventure. I quickly showered and shaved, trying to leave enough hot water for whoever else needed to bathe, but held off on brushing my teeth so I could smoke one last cigarette before going to bed.

As I leaned against the porch rail, cupping my hand around the flame of my lighter to light my cigarette, Mary stepped out on the porch with me, sliding up to sit beside me on the wooden banister and taking the cigarette from between my lips, bringing it to her own.

"Sounds like Trapper and his family will be coming up tomorrow so they can be here for New Years Eve." She sighed. "I haven't the faintest idea where I'm going to put everyone."

"I can always sleep on the floor if you need my bed," I offered, knowing it would easily accommodate more than just myself.

"Oh, that's sweet of you, John, but I would feel positively awful for putting you out. Maybe I'll just send all you boys down to Big Benji's house and Evelyn and I and her girls will stay here."

"I'd certainly hate to intrude on Hawkeye's father. Really, I don't mind sleeping elsewhere."

Mary titled her head as she regarded me, brushing a lock of dark brown hair from her eyes, "Do you ever get angry or upset over anything? You're so easygoing."

I laughed softly, "Not often, but of course I do."

"Well," she said, taking another drag on my cigarette before she gently placed the butt of the cigarette between my lips again. "I think you're quite possibly the sweetest man Hawkeye's ever brought home."

I raised my eyebrows at her choice of wording and the cringing look on her face.

"Boy, that sounded wrong, didn't it?"

I couldn't help but laugh.

"I just mean, with friends like that Trapper McIntyre, and of course Me Lay Marston, it's a wonder he would ever make friends with someone normal." She looked at me curiously. "You are normal, aren't you, John?"

"I'm not sure 'normal' is the word I would apply to myself at this point."

She smiled, laughing softly. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Is Hawkeye your…first?"

"First…sexual experience?" I clarified and she nodded, looking at me with intrigue as she awaited my response. I could feel my stomach churn and my face growing hot. "Oh…uh…well…no."

Her eyes went wide with surprise. "No? Oh, John, do tell."

I gave a nervous laugh, scratching the back of my head as my blush intensified. "This...um…this really isn't a suitable conversation, Mary."

"Does Hawkeye know?"

"Yes, he knows about my past."

"Hmm…" She looked thoughtful for a minute. "Well is he your first…you know, with another man?"

"Um…" I glanced towards the door, hoping Hawkeye would come out here and save me from having this conversation with his wife, but he was nowhere in sight.

"John" Mary's hand reached out, her fingers capturing my chin and gently pulling me around to look at her. "You can trust me. I won't say anything. It must be nice to tell someone other than Hawkeye…right?"

She had a point, but I still felt wholly uneasy with this line of questioning. This was hardly a topic a priest should be engaged in, especially when said priest was sexually involved with the husband of the person asking the questions. I groaned out loud, and finally just answered her question to get this over with. "No, he's not my first…in any respect."

Again she looked surprised. "How many people have you been with before Hawkeye?"

"Just one." I sighed softly and closed my eyes, dropping my head to my chest in shame. "My friend Danny…the one who passed away."

However Mary might have been judging me in that moment, she said nothing aloud. She simply took my hand in hers and clasped it tightly, holding it to her chest and kissing the backs of my fingers. I looked up at her and thought that I saw tears glisten in her eyes for a brief second, but she tilted her head again with inquisitiveness.

"So, you've never been with a woman?"

I gently shook my head.

"Never kissed or seen one naked?"

"Uh…well, kissed, no. But I…I've seen photographs in magazines." I felt the tips of my ears burning red hot.

She laughed softly. "Pictures are hardly the same as seeing a real, live woman and touching her."

I suddenly became very aware that Mary was in her nightgown with only a robe covering her, and she was still holding my hand against her soft bosom. "I…um…suppose you're right, but I wouldn't know anything about that."

"I could show you." Her voice dipped a little lower, making my heart hammer against my chest as my discomfort intensified. She looked down shyly, before looking up at me through her long, dark lashes. "If you wanted…"

"That's really not…um…we shouldn't…I'd better—" While I babbled all of my excuses to get away at once, Mary took my cigarette, flicking it out into the snow-covered yard, and gently gripped the front of my jacket as she pulled me towards her until our lips were but mere millimeters apart.

"Kiss me, John." She whispered before closing the tiny gap between us.

I froze from head to toe, unable to react at all, but still able to feel.

Her lips were supple and delicate, her skin smooth. There was no scrape of stubble that I'd grown accustomed to when kissing Hawkeye. Her scent was honeyed and floral. Everything about her seemed to breath a softness that I had never before encountered, and I had to admit…it was quite a pleasant alteration. Though I didn't feel particularly aroused by the feel of her lips on mine, I did enjoy the tenderness, and I found myself entrapped in the desire to explore this a while longer.

I tilted my head slightly, reciprocating the affectionate embrace…however awkwardly. The kiss naturally deepened, and I was surprised when my arms gently encircled her as if they were acting on their own accord. Mary didn't seem to mind and even pulled my body more firmly against hers. I quickly became aware of the difference in fit between a man's body and woman's body, and the perspicacity of it was arousing.

Her breasts were pressed against my chest, and even through my jacket, I could feel the yielding heaviness of them. Her legs were parted on either side of me, and though she was sitting at hip-level on the banister, I could still feel how the soft curve of her body would fit neatly against the hardness of mine. It gave me a deep appreciation of God's masterful design of coupling between a man and a woman, but—even though I was quite aroused by this point—I still felt there was something lacking.

Mary's hand slowly traveled down my torso to the waistband of my pajama bottoms, toying with the drawstring tied at the front and slowing slipping the ends free. I knew where this was going, and I knew I was neither ready nor willing to take this little experimentation to the next level. I dropped my hands to hers, stilling them as I gently broke the kiss.

"I think…that's probably as far as I can take this, Mary."

She smiled sweetly at me. "It's alright, John. At least now you can say you've kissed a woman."

"Yes…I suppose that's true," I blushed, not knowing what else to say. I didn't think 'thank you' was an appropriate response. "I think perhaps I should go to bed now."

I stepped back towards the door, willing my erection away as I clasped my hands in front of me. Mary giggled softly, but not in a derisive way.

"Goodnight…John." She said my name is a sultry sort of way that made my face redden and I accidentally backed right into the screen door, forgetting where I was and where I was going.

Hawkeye was still on the phone in the living room, laying on the couch as he yammered on with Trapper and I quietly slipped past him and into the guest bedroom, closing the door and leaning against it as I considered what the hell had just happened, and trying to assess just how damned my soul truly was. I sank down to the floor, dropping my head in my hands as I mentally tallied up the facts.

Fact: I had just told Mary Peirce about my past with Danny.

Fact: I had also told her that I had no experience with women.

Fact: Mary Pierce had taken it upon herself to give me some skill in that arena.

Fact: I had thoroughly enjoyed it to the point of arousal.

Fact: She was a married woman and mother of three.

Fact: I was definitely going to hell.

If sinning with Hawkeye wasn't bad enough, I had now just committed adultery with his wife. Where had my morals gone? What was wrong with me! True, we hadn't sinned by becoming one flesh, but I don't think God was going to be splitting hairs over this one. There was no more grey area, no more room for negotiation. This was wrong. Plain and simple.

As shame washed over me, I pushed myself onto my knees and crawled over to my bag, digging through it until I found my Bible and my rosary. I closed my eyes, crossing myself, and began to pray the Apostles' Creed as I knelt on the floor.

"Credo in Deum Patrem omnipotentem, Creatorem caeli et terrae,

et in Iesum Christum, Filium Eius unicum, Dominum nostrum,

qui conceptus est de Spiritu Sancto, natus ex Maria Virgine,

passus sub Pontio Pilato, crucifixus, mortuus, et sepultus,

descendit ad ínferos, tertia die resurrexit a mortuis,

ascendit ad caelos, sedet ad dexteram Patris omnipotentis,

inde venturus est iudicare vivos et mortuos.

Credo in Spiritum Sanctum,

sanctam Ecclesiam catholicam, sanctorum communionem,

remissionem peccatorum,

carnis resurrectionem,

vitam aeternam.

Amen. (1)"

I fingered the beads in my hand, finding the first large bead in the series, and began to pray the sequence of prayers that made up the rosary.

I had managed to get through 7 of the 10 Hail Mary's on the first decade when there was a knock at my door. Familiarity told me that it was Hawkeye, and I was sorely tempted not to answer, but my voice spoke before reason could silence it.

"Come in."

The door opened and Hawkeye stepped in, confusion marring his handsome face as he saw me kneeling on the floor with my Bible and beads. He came all the way in and closed the door behind him. "Bedtime prayers?"

The question was more an invitation for me to tell him what was wrong, as he knew me well enough to know that this was a bit more than just a nightly prayer ritual. I sighed softly as he sat facing me, placing his hand over mine.

"Coming here was a bad idea, Hawkeye."

"What happened, baby? You were fine a few minutes ago."

I looked down at his hand covering mine, my face burning with shame and regret. I had no idea how to tell him what had just happened, even though I knew he'd probably be more thrilled than angry, but that wasn't the reaction I needed right now. I needed him to understand what this was doing to me, but I knew he wouldn't…

"Dago?" He prompted at my silence.

"I…" I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, then looked up and met his gaze. "I kissed Mary."

Hawkeye's eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline as he looked at me in surprised amusement. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that; I thought I heard you say you kissed Mary."

"Hawkeye…" I sighed, disappointed that I had been right in regards to his inability to be serious in this matter.

He sobered, sensing my agitation, and moved beside me, putting his arm around me. "Tell me what happened, Dago."

"It's kind of a blur. We were talking and she started asking me questions about my past and if I'd ever been with a woman. She offered to be my first, as it were, but when I tried to tell her that I shouldn't, she grabbed me and kissed me. I should have stopped it right away, but…well, I didn't."

He was quiet for a long moment as he considered what I said, "I'm sorry, baby, but I'm failing to see the problem. You know I don't have an issue with that kind of thing."

"I know you don't, Hawkeye; but I do." I sighed and sat back, bring my knees up and hugging them to me. "I wish I could explain this so you could understand…I wish I knew what was wrong with me; how I've become so amoral, why I'm giving in to temptation, why I'm allowing myself to explore things that are expressly forbidden. This isn't right."

"There's nothing wrong with you, Dago," Hawkeye told me in a gentle voice. "I know you and I don't agree on the Bible or your vows or whatever, but here's what I think: You're human. Human's enjoy things that bring us pleasure—sex primarily. Kissing someone isn't a sin, Dago. I don't care who you are."

"It's not just that we kissed," I argued softly. "I…became…aroused."

Hawkeye was quiet for a moment and I glanced over to gage his reaction, seeing that he was trying to contain a smirk. "I guess that answers one question."

"What?" I asked, not sure I really wanted to know.

"Whether or not women can turn you on."

I gave him a stern look of reprimand and he guffawed with a laugh, still trying to contain his mirth.

"Listen, Dago, you have nothing to feel ashamed about. There's nothing wrong with you, you're not amoral, and you're not going to Hell." He punctuated the last few words by poking me in the chest with every syllable.

"You don't know that, Hawkeye."

"Nor do you for sure; but I remember it was you who told me that only people who are truly repentant are absolved, right? Seems to me like you feel pretty damn repentant for kissing my wife." He nodded to the Bible and the beads in my hand.

When I didn't say anything, Hawkeye pulled me against him, tipping my chin up and kissing me. "Stop fretting, Dago. I'll talk to Mary and tell her to stop kissing you if you want me to, but I really wish you'd learn to live a little. Not everything's a sin in life."

"No," I agreed. "But there are some pretty clearly defined acts that constitute sinning. I feel I've defiled your marriage bed enough by being with you, I don't need to add your wife into the mix."

"I seem to recall you saying she kissed you?"

"Yes, but I reciprocated."

"Well, it's hard not to; Mary is a damn good kisser."

"Hawkeye," I reprimanded again, making him laugh softly.

"Come on, baby. Lighten up, okay? I still say it's not a sin unless both people feel that it is."

"And I still say it doesn't work like that." I sighed, leaning heavily against him. "Maybe I should go to confession. It's been quite some time since I last confessed and I certainly have enough to confess about."

"What are you going to confess?"

"Nothing truly specific," I admitted. "At least not as far as you and I are concerned. I've reconciled our relationship; I've accepted the consequences for it."

"Consequences?"

"I've told you…if the church ever found out I'd be excommunicated. Beyond that, I risk eternal damnation if I'm wrong about God's forgiveness in this matter."

Hawkeye was strangely quiet, but his arms tightened around me. "You'd really risk going to Hell for me?"

"I already have, Ben." I told him, turning my head up to look at him. "I love you. I'd spend a thousand lifetimes in Hell if it meant being with you for just one day."

He pressed his lips to mine, kissing me sweetly for several moments before finally pulling back. "I love you, too, John…. Are you still upset about Mary?"

I sat up and sighed. "I don't know…I feel torn between feeling guilty because I enjoyed it and feeling guilty because it happened and shouldn't have."

"It was only a kiss, Dago. Nothing more."

I didn't tell him that it hadn't gone farther because I'd stopped it, but I accepted what he said. It was only a kiss, and for that I was grateful, but I knew it couldn't happen again.

"Do you want me to say something to her?"

"No. I'll talk to her about it." Though I knew it would be an awkward conversation, I felt it was my responsibility to establish that boundary. I felt confident enough in our newly formed friendship to know that Mary would understand, possibly better than Hawkeye did. Hopefully she would be as willing as I was to chalk it up to a bit of tomfoolery and leave well enough alone.

"Are you going to bed just now?" Hawkeye asked, sounding hopeful that I would say no.

"I'm not especially tired right now," I admitted, looking over at him. "Why do you ask?"

"I thought we could stay up a while longer. Watch something on the television or play a game or stay in here." He grinned as he mentioned the last option, and I blushed but couldn't hide my smile.

"You're impossible."

His grin widened, "So you've said."

Hawkeye leaned in, kissing me deeply. "So, what do you say?"

"I need to finish praying." I told him truthfully. It had been far too long since I had prayed the rosary, which was absolutely unacceptable. As a priest, I should do this daily while meditating on the Mysteries in the lives of Jesus and the Holy Mother Mary. I was solely to blame for my negligence, and resolved to get back in the habit of prayer.

"How long will you be?"

"Well…" I looked down at the rosary in my hands, my thumb and forefinger still marking my place. "Each bead on the rosary marks a prayer, or a sequence of prayers. In total, there are about 81 prayers. I'm on about the 17th one."

"81?" Hawkeye cried, obviously not expecting that response. I laughed. "Dago, that'll take all night."

"It won't," I reassured him, amused. "They're not long prayers. Just a lot of Hail Mary's."

"Do you pray in English or in Latin?"

"Latin."

"Can I stay and watch?"

"You want to watch me pray?" For someone who was so at odds with God, Hawkeye seemed overly curious about Catholic practices at times.

He shrugged in response. "Sure why not?"

I looked at him skeptically for a moment but decided to let him stay. I bowed my head and continued with my series of Hail Mary's.

"Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum.  
Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Jesus.  
Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus,  
nunc et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen. (2)"

When I finally worked through all the prayers and said the last In The Name and crossed myself, I looked over to see Hawkeye looking at me with a soft expression. I blushed under his gaze. "What?"

"I just love listening to you speak in Latin. It sounds so flawless."

"Well, I can pray well enough in Latin, but I still have trouble conjugating verbs when I'm speaking conversationally."

"What other languages did you say you speak? French, right?"

"Yes, and Spanish, plus a little German, Chinese, Tibetan, Korean and Gaelic. And now a little Vietnamese."

"Say something in Gaelic."

"Sláinte."

"What's that mean?"

"Cheers, basically." I laughed, "It's one of the only things I know how to say, the other being 'Go n-ithe an cat thú is go n-ithe an diabhal an cat.(3)'"

"And that means…?"

"May the cat eat you and the devil eat the cat."

Hawkeye roared with laughter. "Where the hell did you learn Gaelic anyways?"

"My grandfather. He died when I was young, so I didn't get to learn too much from him, but I remember those two sayings. He used to call my grandmother 'a ghra mo chroi' (4) or just 'a ghra' which means 'love of my heart.'"

"A ghra mo chroi," he repeated softly, looking deep in my eyes before he reached up, sliding his fingers into the hair at the base of my skull and gently urging me forward into a tender kiss.

The kiss quickly deepened and Hawkeye took the beads from my hand, laying them aside as he used his body weight to lower me onto my back on the wooden floorboards. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him in against me, and feeling the missing piece that had been lacking when I'd been pressed against Mary. I swiftly became aroused yet again, but I'd already found release once that night and Hawkeye hadn't.

I tightened my hold on him and used my strength to roll us over so that I was now on top of him. Hawkeye chuckled against my mouth, obviously amused, but I felt his erection stiffen even more beneath me. I broke away from his lips, nipping along his jaw and neck, slowly making my way down the length of his torso, pushing his sweater up and kissing his stomach and navel.

As I worked open the fastenings of his pants and began to slide them down his hips, I gently bit his hipbone, making him moan softly. His fingers ran through my hair as I kissed my way across his pelvic bone and bit him just where the inside of his leg connected with his body. He shuddered, moaning again. I gripped his hard length in my hand and flicked my tongue against the small strap of skin that stretched from the top of the shaft to the underside of the bulbous head of his penis. He jerked slightly, panting heavily with anticipation. I slowly drew him into my mouth, taking him as deep as I could and listening to his long, quiet groan of pleasure.

"Fuck…Dago…" he swore softly, fingers running through my hair continuously.

I began to move up and down his shaft, applying various amounts of pressure with the suction of my mouth, and snaked my hand down between his legs to fondle his testicles and caress his backside. His legs fell open a little wider in quiet invitation, and I reached my hand up the length of his body to his mouth. Hawkeye nibble at my fingertips before drawing my fingers into his mouth, one by one. I was surprised when he began to suck my ring finger, as I'd only ever used my index and middle finger inside of him before, but I didn't object. As he slid my slickened fingers from between his lips, I brought my hand back down and gently began to work them one by one inside of him, never taking my attention off his erection.

When I slid the third finger in, Hawkeye groaned and I felt the muscles in his legs quiver slightly, but he was pushing against me and rolling his hips, thrusting up into my mouth and down onto my fingers. He was breathing heavily, panting with pleasure, and he gripped my head, holding me in place.

"Oh, fuck, yes… Fuck, Dago, just like that, don't stop…" His thrusts became more fervent and frenzied as he quickly neared his peak. I let him hold me down on him, somehow thrilled by his passion and pleasure, anticipating his release and wanting to taste him. With my free hand, I grasped his testicles, squeezing and pulling them the way I knew he liked and he cried out, trying to stifle the noise by biting his lip as he lost control of his orgasm. I swallowed the gush of fluid, sucking him until he was completely spent and laying sprawl on the floor in a panting heap. I wiped my mouth with the back of my right hand, withdrawing my left hand from his anus and wiping them on his pants that were bunched around his ankles.

"What the fu…Dago!" He hollered, lifting his head to see what I was doing.

I grinned, laughing slightly. "Just repaying you for all the times you did that to me."

He laughed and dropped his head gently back down to the floor. "You're such a little shit sometimes."

"I guess it takes one to know one," I remarked, making him laugh again as he reached for me and tugged me down into his arms, tickling me.

"No! No! Hawkeye, no!" I squirmed, trying not to squeal with laughter, least I wake the entire household. Hawkeye was laughing softly, but he stopped tickling me and drew me into a kiss instead.

"Fuck, I love you." He murmured, brushing the tip of his nose against mine.

I smiled, leaning down to kiss him again before I pulled back, getting to my feet to pick up my Bible and rosary beads off the floor. "So, Trapper's coming tomorrow?"

Hawkeye pulled his pants back up, fastening them before he got to his feet and promptly flopped down on the bed. "Yeah. He's coming up and they'll stay tomorrow and New Years Eve and go home New Years day. You don't mind do you?"

"Mind? No. Why would I mind? This is your house, Hawkeye. I'm a guest."

"You're not just a _guest_ , Dago…" he said seriously. "I just, you know…I kind of wanted to kiss you at midnight, but with Trapper here…"

"Oh, I see… You really ought to kiss your wife at midnight, anyways." I sat on the edge of the bed and he took my hand, pulling me down to lay against him.

"Yeah, I know…" He sighed softly. "Have you ever kissed anyone at midnight on New Years?"

"Danny," I admitted, again saddened by his memory. Hawkeye's arms tightened around me.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "Are you doing okay…you know…with that?"

I closed my eyes, pressing closer to him. "I don't want to talk about it right now."

"Okay…" he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of my head and stroked my hair.

Though I hadn't felt tired moments before, laying with him was lulling me to sleep. I was vaguely aware that his movements were getting slower and slower before they stopped all together and he simply draped his arm around me. I had intended to tell him he should go to bed, but I greedily wanted him to stay with me, and so I said nothing and let us both fall into a light sleep.

At some point I felt a quilt being gently placed over us before a pair of lips tenderly touched my forehead. I peeked my eyes open to see Mary leaning over me to do the same to Hawkeye before she brushed his hair off his forehead.

"Thank you," I murmured sleepily. Her hand stroked my cheek softly.

"Goodnight, John." She whispered.

"G'night, Mary."

TBC

1.) Apostles' Creed (English Translation):

I believe in God,

the Father almighty,

Creator of heaven and earth,

and in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord,

who was conceived by the Holy Spirit,

born of the Virgin Mary,

suffered under Pontius Pilate,

was crucified, died and was buried;

he descended into hell;

on the third day he rose again from the dead;

he ascended into heaven,

and is seated at the right hand of God the Father almighty;

from there he will come to judge the living and the dead.

I believe in the Holy Spirit,

the holy catholic Church,

the communion of saints,

the forgiveness of sins,

the resurrection of the body,

and life everlasting. Amen.

2.) Hail Mary (English Translation):

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee!  
Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.  
Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners,  
now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

3.) Pronounced /guh nee-ha on cat hoo iss go nee-ha on jeowel on cat/

4.) Pronounced /ah graw muh kree/


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye's POV.

I woke up the next morning alone in Dago's bed, wrapped in a quilt and wondering where he was and what time it was. I hadn't intended on staying the whole night with him, but I was fairly certain Mary wouldn't mind too much, and I certainly never minded sharing a bed with him.

I got up, wrapping the quilt around me and drug myself out to the kitchen where Mary, Dago, and the boys were eating breakfast. There was a plate sitting at my usual spot, waiting for whenever I'd decided to wake up. I was surprised to find my boys animatedly talking to Dago, who was listening with either real or feigned intrigue—even I wasn't sure.

"Morning." I yawned as I wandered in, ruffling Dago's hair as I passed him, and sat at the table, leaning over to kiss Mary.

"I'm glad you've decided to join the land of the living," she teased.

As the boys continued to talk to Dago, I loaded up my plate with homemade pancakes and sausage.

"What time are the McIntyre's supposed to arrive?" Mary asked, passing me the maple syrup.

"Not sure," I said, stuffing a bite of bacon in my mouth. "Probably around noon."

After breakfast, Dago and I went out back for a cigarette while Mary made the boys help her clean up the kitchen before they would be allowed to go play.

"Did you talk to Mary?" I asked, reclining on the steps next to him.

"Yeah, everything's okay. She's very understanding."

"She has to be," I grinned. "She's married to me."

Trapper's arrival brought as much mayhem into the house as Mary's homecoming had. Dad, who had met Trapper on previous occasions, had been quite taken with him, and promptly came over shortly after seeing Trapper's car drive up from the main road. Mary was introducing Louise to the newest addition of our family, and Trapper and Dago greeted each other with a warm handshake.

"Sorry to hear about your friend, Red," Trap said. I'd told him last night over the phone that Dago was staying with us and would probably be going to Jersey with me until he found a place to go. Trapper asked how we'd come back in contact and I lied and said Dago had written to me about the death of his friend and that Mary and I decided to take him in for a while until he got back on his feet.

Dago looked surprised by Trapper's comment. "Oh…Thank you, Trapper."

Introductions were made between Dago and Louise and Trapper's two girls, then all 4 of the children went out to play as the rest of us settled in the living room. Trapper and I, of course, found ourselves talking about golf and how we couldn't wait for the snow to start melting so we'd be able to hit a few without losing our white balls in the white snow.

"Louise got me this great new chipper that I've been dying to try. Has the best damn grip on it."

"You should have brought it up," I commented. "It'd be worth losing a ball or two to see what she does.

"I tried, but I would have had to leave one of the kids behind to fit the clubs in the car." He said forlornly.

Mary and Louise eventually wandered into the kitchen to fix everyone a late lunch, and Dad talked Trapper into going over to see the improvements he'd made on his fishing rig for crab season. Though, I was sure Trapper was less than interested, he humored Dad, leaving Dago and I alone in the living room.

I peeked over my shoulder into the kitchen to make sure neither of the girls were watching, then I grabbed Dago's hand and wrenched him off the couch, pulling him down the hall to the guest bedroom. I pushed the door closed and pressed him up against it, kissing him passionately. He moaned softly into my mouth, sliding his arms around my neck. We pulled back after a long minute and he slowly opened his eyes to look at me.

"What was that for?"

"Because I feel like I'm neglecting you."

"You're visiting with Trapper, Hawkeye, I don't need your constant attention." He chuckled. "Just because I'm not saying much doesn't mean I feel ignored. I just don't know enough about golf to say anything of value."

"I just don't want you to feel left out."

"While I certainly don't mind being swept away and kissed with such zeal, I don't feel left out." He smiled at me reassuringly.

I kissed him softly, wishing we had time for a quick fuck, but knowing we didn't, then released him and we returned to the living room, chatting idly about places Dago might want to go for missionary work. I wasn't surprised that India was on his list, as it was close enough to Tibet that he and Tseten might actually be able to visit each other once in a while.

"Have you heard from Tseten recently?"

"Not since I left Vietnam," he shook his head. "I haven't given him an address to write to yet."

"You know, you could still meet up with him in April for his pilgrimage thing and come back here for the summer festival."

"That's true; I hadn't thought of that." Dago said, his expression suggesting he was seriously considering the option.

We spent the day eating and talking and playing games. The girls wanted to play charades while we men wanted to play a good game of poker. Since the women were outnumber, dad made Dago the deciding vote. He looked between us and them as he tried to make a fair ruling. Mary and Louise were making pouty faces, trying to win him over, so Trapper and I got down on the floor, bowing at his feet as if paying homage to him.

He laughed, but ordered us to get up and stop behaving like children, which made Dad and girls laugh. "Sorry, fellas, but I have to side in favor of the ladies."

We groaned good naturedly, but divided up into teams, with Dad now nominating Dago to be on the women's team since he "got us into the fix." I tried to protest Dad's appointment, knowing that Dago had quite the lucky streak when it came to winning, and charades seemed like the type of game that was right up his alley, but dad didn't listen and Dago's smug smile didn't allay my concerns.

Turns out, I was right. I wondered if most of the movies Dago had seen as a kid hadn't been silent pictures. He was quite animated with his hands and able to easily express whatever he was supposed to be acting out. It was a shame that Vaudeville had lost its audience…Dago could have been quite the performer. We ended up losing to him and the girls by a landslide, and as a result, we had to take them out for dinner.

"Do you think Alice Tuttle would come babysit for us on such short notice?" Mary asked. "I'd rather not take all the kids."

"I'd be glad to stay and watch them," Dago offered. "Now that I'm not receiving pay from the army or the church, I have to watch my expenditures a bit."

"Oh, John, we'd be glad to pay for your meal," Mary told him. "Besides, you're part of the winning team, you have to come."

"Thank you, that's very kind, but I'd feel more comfortable with just staying here."

Mary and I both looked disappointed, I noticed, but we ended up leaving him in charge of all the children, as well as the baby as we headed into town.

"Does Dago even know anything about kids?" Trapper asked from the backseat.

"The basics, I'm sure," I replied. "You know, not to let them play with fire or sharp things."

"He's quite good with the boys," Mary told them, sounding like a doting mother. "I just hope the baby doesn't cry the whole time.

It was well past nine o'clock by the time we made it back to the house after dropping dad off across the way. I smiled softly as I saw the front porch light burning and the rest of the lights dimmed in the house. We quietly made our way inside and could hear giggling coming from down the hall. Mary, Louise and I crept towards the sound of the giggles as Trapper headed for the toilet.

The door to the boy's room was open and we peered inside, seeing Tommy and Charlie in one of the twin beds together and Becky and Kathy sharing the other. Dago was sitting between the beds with Charlotte's Web in his hand, reading from the latest chapter. He made the characters come to life by giving each one of them a different voice and I watched him with wonder, thinking to myself—not for the first time—that he would make a magnificent dad.

Mary and Louise spent much of the next day preparing a rather large meal in honor of New Year's Eve, and I ended up inviting Me Lay and his wife and children over to celebrate with the rest of us. The house was full of talking men, chattering women, and cooped up kids who alternated between playing outside until they were frozen and playing inside until they were thawed.

Dago spent much of his time drifting between our conversation, helping the women, and horse playing with the kids. While he'd assured me the day before that he didn't feel left out, I couldn't help but wonder if that were still the case. I was glad, at least, that he and Mary had talked things out, and now they even seemed to be almost like brother and sister.

We let the kids stay up as long as they could, but they were all crashing out by 10:30. We moved Tommy, Charlie, Becky and Kathy into the boys room, and put Me Lay's kids in the guest room so that whenever Me Lay retrieved them to leave, he wouldn't wake up the others.

At 11:50, I started pouring the champagne, and at 11:59:50, we began the countdown. I knew I couldn't kiss Dago at the stroke of midnight, so instead I had him under one arm and Mary under the other. At midnight, I kissed my wife and hugged my lover tightly against my side. When Mary and I broke apart, she put her hands on Dago's face.

"Happy New Year, John." She told him before she kissed him on the lips in a friendly embrace, then she moved to do the same to my Dad, Trapper and Me Lay. I turned to Dago and pulled him into a tight hug.

"Welcome to 1954, baby," I grinned, dropping a quick kiss against his neck.

He was blushing softly as we pulled back, but smiled at me. "Happy New Year, Hawk…"

The day finally came for Dago and I to head out for New Jersey, and I suddenly didn't want to leave my wife and children, though I knew I'd see them soon enough. Dago and Mary hugged goodbye and she was adjusting the collar of his jacket.

"You can come with Hawkeye on the weekends he visits, John. You'll always be welcome in our home."

"Thank you, Mary. Take care of yourself. And thank you for your generous hospitality." Dago looked at me with an expression that said he'd wait for in the car and to take my time. I appreciated the fact that he knew this part wasn't easy for me.

I waited until he was in the car before I pulled Mary to me and kissed her fiercely. "You're sure you won't come back with us? The kids can stay with Dad."

"No, this is my home, Hawkeye. I refuse to go back to that dump. You'll have Dago to keep you company and I'll see you often enough."

"I love you."

"Don't start with that mess," Mary said softly, pulling my head down and kissing my forehead. "I love you, too, you crazy lunatic. You drive safe and call me when you get there."

We kissed again, then I said goodbye to Karen and the boys, who were already eager to mark off the days on the calendar to when I'd be home again. It made me ache to leave them, but I knew I had to do this. I had to get this board under my belt or I'd never make it in the private sector. I'd worked too long and too hard to be screwed over by the fucking war. This would be cake next to Korea.

Determined not to break down and cry in front of them, I kissed them all one more time, then headed to the car. Dago and I both waved as I turned the car around and slowly drove away from the house with Tommy and Charlie chasing after us as far as they could. Once we reached the highway, Dago looked over at me.

"You're a good man, Hawkeye."

I reached over and took his hand. Though I was sad to be leaving Mary and the kids, I was glad Dago was going to be with me. It was almost like what I'd fantasized about in Korea—dividing my time between him and my family. Maybe it wasn't permanent, but as he'd said…that didn't have to ruin the time we had now.

When we reached the apartment in Jersey, and carried all of our things in from the car, Dago looked around the drab little hole-in-the-wall two bedroom flat before he looked at me.

"Better than the tents in Korea," he offered with a shrug.

Since I'd been gone for several weeks, we had no groceries in the house, but it had been so long since I'd gone shopping or had to cook for myself that I really was a bit clueless on where to start. Dago laughed at my pitiful list of cereal, bread and beer.

"Maybe you should let me do the shopping and the cooking." He said as he took the list and sat at the small kitchen table. "What kinds of things do you like to eat?"

"What can you cook?"

"Not much," he admitted. "But that's what cookbooks are for. I'm sure I can find one at the market."

Dago fleshed out the grocery list to include milk, eggs, meat, lentils, vegetables and a few other items. We headed down to the car, drove to the grocery store and Dago wrangled the help of an elderly woman who was doing her own shopping.

I listened as he introduced himself as Father Mulcahy, and watched as the women suddenly seemed more interested in helping him locate a cookbook, and offer suggestions of what meals she liked to cook for her and her husband. Dago thanked her and the two of us made our way around the market, loading up on the necessary items. As we went to the register, Dago started to reach for his billfold, but I stopped him.

"I'm employed," I told him. "You're not."

He blushed softly, but nodded.

When we made it back home and put everything away, Dago sat at the kitchen with his new cookbook and started flipping through it to figure out which of the suggested recipes he would cook first. I kissed the top of his head.

"I'm going to go call Mary and let her know we're here and settled in."

I headed into the living room and told the operator to connect me to HOpkins 3-5579, then waited for the call to be put through.

"Don't tell me you've just now gotten there," Mary teased by way of greeting.

"Nah, we got in a bit ago but we didn't have one crumb of food here so we had to go get groceries."

"You? Bought groceries? I think I'd better sit down…"

I laughed softly. "Well, if Dago hadn't been here I'd be eating cereal with beer right now. I don't know a damn thing about cooking."

"Don't I know it!"

Mary and I talked for a little while before we hung up the phone, and I wandered back in the kitchen to find Dago at the stovetop with the cookbook laying open on the counter next to him as he followed the recipe instructions for something involving chicken.

"Need some help?" I asked as I hopped up on the counter and picked up the cookbook, looking at the recipe.

"You can hold the book for me," he replied with a slight smirk, obviously not trusting me with any other task, which was probably wise of him. Watching him cut the chicken into squares before adding them to a hot skillet seemed so strangely domestic all of a sudden, and I couldn't help but laugh a little. "What's so funny?"

"It's just weird watching you do women's work."

"You know, Hawkeye," he replied, not looking up from his chicken. "If I wasn't here right now, you'd probably starve to death."

"Yeah, that's true; but when I used to fantasize about living with you, I didn't bother to think about who would do the cooking or the cleaning or the laundry or take the trash out…"

"Probably because your brain automatically assumed I would do it." He glanced up at me with a soft grin.

"Also true," I grinned back at him, leaning in and kissing him.

Dinner was surprisingly good, but the company was even better. Being with him helped me not miss Mary and the kids. I helped him clean up the kitchen after dinner, then drug him with me to the shower. I undressed us both, not letting him removing any of our clothes, as I kissed his lips, jaw, throat, and shoulders. I bit the top of his shoulder, sinking my teeth in deeper and deeper until he cried out at his threshold. He looked almost dizzy as I pulled back from him and I smirked, triumphantly, pulling him with me under the hot spray of the water. I kissed him deeply as the water rained down over our heads, then turned him around and gently pushed him up against the tile wall. Dago looked at me over his shoulder as I pressed myself against him, using a bar of soap to slick my dick up in the absence of lube.

He shuddered slightly as I entered him, moaning softly. I held onto his hands as he braced himself against the wall, making sure not to hold too tightly or make him feel pinned down. It felt good to be inside of him, tight and warm and familiar. Even though we'd fooled around a little here and there over the past week, the last time we'd had full-blown sex had been the night before Mary had come home from the hospital. While hand jobs and blow jobs were certainly terrific in their own right, there was just something more satisfying about being physically connected to him.

"Harder." Dago breathed as I fucked him. He pushed back against me and I released his hands to grasp his hips as I thrust into him harder and harder. The wet slap of our bodies coupled with our moans of ecstasy echoed in the shower stall, moving us both rapidly towards our orgasm. Dago had taken himself in one hand, jerking his cock in rhythm to my thrusts. Watching him pleasure himself was almost too much for my mind to process and I growled and bit down hard into his shoulder, making him cry out once again. I didn't let up this time, holding him there between my teeth as I crashed my body into his. Dago clawed at the tile, gritting his teeth as he continued jerking off. I could feel him holding his breath and knew that he was concentrating solely on cumming. He was nearing the finish and I didn't let up.

"Hawkeye!" He called out hoarsely as he threw his head back. I pushed deeply into him as his orgasm hit, making him shudder and moan as he spilled himself into his hand and onto the tile. I came seconds later, spending myself deep inside of him and growling continuously against his shoulder, where my teeth were still latched onto him. As my body jerked with the last passing wave of my orgasm, I let up on his shoulder and leaned heavily against him, completely sated.

Dago dropped his head against the wall, panting. I could feel him trembling ever so slightly as he relaxed his taut muscles. We stood there for several long moments, letting the spray of the shower wash over us before I put all my weight back on my own two feet, pressing a kiss at the base of his neck.

We took our time showering, in no real hurry to do much of anything except simply be with each other. When we finally did get out of the shower and toweled off, I noticed the dark bruise forming on Dago's shoulder in the shape of a ring of teeth. I winced slightly and ran my fingers gently over the bruise.

"Sorry."

He glanced at his shoulder, smiling softly. "It's alright."

We put on our pajamas, and I grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge before we sat on the couch to watch a little television before bedtime. Having watched enough television with him over the last couple of weeks, I'd learned that Dago seemed drawn to comedies like I Love Lucy and The Honeymooners and variety shows like the Colgate Comedy Hour or Spike Jones, but not very interested in the sci-fi shows I was partial to. He did, however, humor me by watching them with me, though I could tell he never truly got into them like I did.

By 10pm we were both barely able to hold our eyes open, so we called it a night and went to bed. I was due at the hospital at 8am, which meant getting up by six. I hated early shifts. Surgeries were always scheduled for either mid-morning or early afternoon, so I never understood why I had to be there, but figured it was just another way for the chief surgeon to dog my ass.

I cocooned myself in the blankets with Dago as he curled up against me and—as he usually did—rested his head in the crook of my arm. It still felt so strange to be lying down to sleep with him, as I'd always left him about this time in Korea.

"Goodnight, Hawkeye.," he murmured sleepily, draping his arm across my stomach.

"'Night, baby." I replied, kissing the top of his head.

When the alarm went off, I felt disoriented as I reached over to shut the damn thing off, having forgotten in my sleep that I was in Jersey and not Crabapple Cove. Dago stirred next to me, reaching over and rubbing my back gently.

"Want me to make you breakfast?" He mumbled, still half asleep.

"Nah, s'ok." I yawned and rubbed my eyes. "You go back to sleep."

"Okay." He said, dropping his hand back on the bed. I headed for the bathroom to shower and shave, hoping it would wake me up enough to function, then went to the kitchen to make some coffee and eat a bowl of cereal. I got dressed in a pair of slacks, button down shirt and tie—as required by the dress code at the VA, then sat on the edge of the bed next to Dago, who had already fallen back asleep. I leaned over and kissed his lips lightly, making him stir once again.

"Hey," I said softly, smiling. "I'm off to the hospital. You'll be okay here by yourself?"

"Yeah, I'm sure I'll be fine. What time will you be home?"

"Depends on what surgeries are scheduled today and how much of a dick my boss is going to be after me being gone for most of December, but hopefully by six."

"Okay. I hope you have a good day."

"I'll do my best," I leaned down and kissed him again, then headed off to work.

As it was, there was only one surgery scheduled, but that didn't get me off the hook for a long, hard day. Jimmy was in a bah-humbug sort of mood, and set me to doing follow-ups for all the patients who had had surgery in the last few weeks, most of whom had already been released and I ended up having to call. While none of the work was particularly grueling, it was grunt work that was teaching me absolutely nothing about thoracic surgery. Sure, follow-ups were a part of being a doctor, but I wasn't the one who'd done the surgery.

The holidays had also done nothing to change the fact that Jimmy was on me every chance he got like some kind of rabid dog—barking about how sloppy I looked, or how I shouldn't take a smoke break, or just generally tearing into me for no good reason. By the time I left the hospital, I had a killer headache and I needed a drink.

I drug myself back to the apartment, noticing that it was already well after six. Dago was sitting on the couch with his feet propped up on the small coffee table, reading a book as I came in. He looked up and smiled at me cheerily, but I couldn't muster up the energy to do the same. I could smell something cooking in the kitchen and it made my stomach growl, as I'd barely gotten time for a sandwich in the VA cafeteria some 7 hours earlier.

"How was your day?" Dago asked, closing his book.

I groaned in reply, dragging myself over to the couch and flopping down to put my head in his lap. Dago gently stroked my hair.

"That good, huh?" He teased lightly.

"Jimmy Gargan is a real son of a bitch." I muttered, closing my eyes. "I can't wait until I finish my residency with him and can tell him just what a piece of shit he really is."

"Maybe you should tell him to lighten up a little." Dago offered.

I laughed softly. "That would just make it worse. I swear to God, if my shoes aren't tied just right, he threatens to write me up."

We were quiet for a moment as Dago continued to stroke my hair and lightly massage my scalp with his fingertips, helping my headache to ebb a little as I relaxed against him.

"What's for dinner?"

"Stew, hopefully. It's been cooking all day."

"Smells good."

"If you want to go get changed, it should be done pretty soon," he said softly. "Do you want a beer?"

"I'll take a scotch actually." I sat up and kissed him, then headed to the bedroom to change.

Dago and I quickly established a comfortable routine in which I would wake up, kiss him goodbye, then come home to dinner almost ready. He would pour me a drink as I changed clothes, we would eat, clean the kitchen, then either watch the T.V. or fuck, or sometimes both before showering and climbing into bed by 10:30. Mary had called to tell me not to come home the first weekend after I'd been back at work because both of the boys were sick and she, too, was feeling under the weather. By the second weekend, though, I was ready to see them all. I felt somewhat guilty as Dago seemed to sense my anticipation of going home, and politely declined my invitation for him to come along.

"You haven't seen them in two weeks, Hawkeye; whereas you've seen me every day. Go home and be with your wife and children. I'll be here when you get back on Sunday."

By mid-February, his answer never changed, and I stopped asking him to come along. It seemed strange that whenever I was with Dago, I rarely thought of Mary or the kids, and when I was with them I rarely thought of Dago. I wondered at how my brain could shut out two equally important parts of my life, but was at least glad that it kept me from missing one or the other.

I could tell, though, that Dago was getting restless. I always asked what he did during the day, or on the weekends when I wasn't there, and his answer—again—was always the same. "Not much." He would say with no real detail. I knew he was feeling depressed, but I wasn't sure exactly why.

"Are you unhappy here, Dago?" I asked one night as we laid in bed, neither of us able to sleep for whatever reason.

"No, not particularly. Not with you, anyways." He amended gently. "I'm just beginning to understand why Mary wasn't happy here. It's lonely when you're not here, and I have nothing productive to occupy my time with other than prayer. I need to find a job, Hawkeye…"

"Maybe you could come work at the V.A. with me for a while," I offered. "We have a chaplain there already, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind splitting the work with you. I could ask the director…if you want."

"Would you?" Dago asked, hopeful. "Even if I don't get paid, I need to do something other than sit in this apartment all day."

I brushed my lips against his. "Sure, I'll talk to 'em tomorrow morning and see if there's something they can work out."

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

The director told me they could use another chaplain on a part-time pay basis, and asked me to have Dago come in to talk to him. When I got a minute for a break, I called the apartment to tell Dago the news and told him to come up to the V.A. if he had time.

"Ha. Ha." He deadpanned at my mockery. I gave him directions on how to get here by foot, wished him luck, then went back to work.

It was about two in the afternoon, and I was just getting ready to scrub in for a surgery when I eyed Dago walking down the hall with the V.A. Chaplain Robert Babbitt, or as I called him, Rabbit. Rabbit was a tall, skinny fellow with cottony white hair and a nervous tic, but a swell enough guy that seemed to care a lot about the patients at the hospital.

"Ah, Doctor Pierce," he called upon seeing me, and motioning me to meet them halfway down the corridor. Dago was trying not to smirk. "Allow me to introduce our new part-time chaplain, Father John Mulcahy. Father, this is Doctor Pierce."

"Look here, you mackerel snapper," I said, narrowing my eyes at Dago. "I don't care for your kind, so you stay out of my hair and I'll stay out of yours."

"Doctor Pierce!" Rabbit sounded scandalized as he looked at Dago. "I'm sorry, Father…he's just a resident here."

Dago and I both laughed, and he explained. "Don't worry, Robert; Hawkeye and I are well-acquainted. I'm actually staying with him for the time being."

"Oh, thank God," Rabbit sighed in relief. "You really had me there, Doctor."

"I've got to get to surgery," I told them with a laugh. "See you around, Rabbit. Bye, Dago."

Dago seemed to be back to his normal, cheerful self in no time after he started working at the hospital. Even though he wasn't getting paid for half the time he spent up there, Dago started getting up with me in the morning, going in with me, and staying until I got off work. It threw off our established routine a little, as it took a little longer to get dinner ready, but I felt that so long as he was content, and had something to do, he wouldn't leave anytime soon.

March 17th rolled around on a Wednesday, and I somehow managed to wake up before the alarm went off. I shut it off, and watching Dago sleeping until it was time to get up, then I leaned down and kissed his lips softly until he slowly woke up.

"Happy birthday, baby." I murmured.

"What?" He said, sleep still fogging his brain. "Oh…gosh, I nearly forgot what day it was."

I laughed quietly. "I've got something for you. Do you want it now or tonight when we get home?"

"You didn't have to get me anything, Hawkeye."

"I know," I brushed the tip of his nose with mine. "I wanted to."

"What is it?" He asked curiously.

"Wait here." I smiled, kissing him again before I slid out of bed and found the cigar box where I kept my valuables. Dago turned on the lamp beside the bed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes as he watched me pull an envelope out of the box. I handed it over to him, sitting next to him on the bed.

"What is it?" He asked again.

"Open it."

He carefully tore open the seal on the envelope and pulled out the contents, staring at it as if he couldn't comprehend what he was holding.

"It's a plane ticket," I told him. "A trans-Atlantic flight from New York to London, where you'll then fly to India, and hop a train to Nepal."

"Oh, Hawkeye…" he said breathlessly. "This must have cost you an absolute fortune…I can't accept this…"

"Yes, you can." I told him, wrapping my arms around him. "I want you to go and see Tseten. I wasn't sure exactly when he would do his pilgrimage thing; your letter just said between April and May, so this isn't an actual ticket yet…it's more just a reservation for a seat whenever you decide to go."

Dago hugged me so tightly that I nearly couldn't breathe. "I don't know how to thank you, Hawkeye. This is…gosh...it's just too much."

"You don't have to thank me, baby. I wanted to do it, and I had some money tucked away, so it's not putting me in a bind. You should probably thank Mary, though. She did a lot of the leg work talking to the airline to work it all out."

He kissed me deeply, looking at me with a sincere expression. "Well, thank you…both of you. I'll be sure to call her up later and thank her myself, but…thank you."

I laughed and ruffled his hair. "Stop thanking me and get out of bed before you make me late for work."

Rather than relying on the mail to deliver the news of his visit to Tseten, Dago sent communication by wire instead, which took several days for a response, rather than several weeks or even months. The two of them managed to work out the days they would meet in Lumbini, and Tseten informed Dago how long he planned to stay so that Dago could make arrangements for his return trip home.

On April 7th, I drove Dago to the airport in New York. He looked somewhat nervous as he checked in and got his boarding pass and I walked with him to the boarding zone, gently bumping his shoulder with mine as we walked.

"What are you nervous about, Dago?"

"Everything," he admitted. "It's been so long since I've seen him."

"I'm sure he hasn't changed any more than you have," I offered.

"Yeah, I know…" He sighed and turned to face me as we'd reached as far as I could go with him. "Thank you for this, Hawkeye; though I do with you'd let me repay you for at least part of the expenses."

"You can work it off in trade," I grinned, winking at him and making him blush.

An awkward silence fell over us as we stared at each other, knowing we couldn't exactly hug or kiss out in the open. I sighed softly, but smiled at him all the same.

"Take care of yourself over there. Don't get arrested or exiled."

"I'll do my best," he said with a soft laugh. "You take care, too."

"Yeah, well, it's a good thing I've been watching you cook, otherwise I might actually starve during the week."

He grinned and held out his hand.

I took it, squeezing gently. "See you in a month."

"In a month," he nodded, releasing my hand.

I watched him board the plane, then stood by until they closed the door and started to taxi to the runway. I waited until the plane thundered across the stretch of pavement before the nose lifted into the sky and it began to ascend into the clouds, then I went home—alone—to the apartment in Jersey.

Without Dago, Mary, or the kids, the apartment was lonely and quiet and I started to realize what they'd all gone through whenever they were stuck there while I worked. It helped me understand Mary's decision to remain in Crabapple Cove, and Dago's insistence that he needed a job. I was only there for about 4-5 hours a night before I went to bed and started my day over again, and it was depressing me. I didn't know how either of them had been able to stand it for so long.

I talked to Mary and the boys every night and looked forward to seeing them every weekend. April seemed to creep by without Dago with me during the weekdays, but I was glad that he was visiting with Tseten.

Jimmy Gargan's personal vendetta to make my life a living hell continued for that month, making it harder and harder to come home to an empty apartment. Mary had listened to me gripe about Jimmy for a couple of weeks before she told me to suck it up or pack it in, but that only made me feel resentment towards her whenever I had a particularly bad day and couldn't tell her, but I knew she was right. Jimmy was a hard ass, but he was a damn good mentor.

On May 8th, I drove back to the airport in New York and waited around for a couple of hours for Dago's plane to land. I paced nervously back and forth, hoping that I remembered the day right and hoping he'd made the plane. I had no doubts that Dago could take care of himself, but there was that fear in the back of my mind that something could have happened to him.

When his plane finally landed and I saw him step through the door and descend the steps, relief flooded me. He smiled as he saw me and I couldn't help but smile back, waving excited at him. I saw him laugh a little as he gave me a small wave back, and this time I didn't stop myself from hugging him as he came up to me, noticing immediately how sunburned his face was.

"Looks like you got a bit of sun," I teased as we hugged tightly.

"Yeah," he laughed. "Just a bit. I even wore a hat every day, but it didn't help."

"How are you? How was the trip?"

"It was great. Tseten sends his greetings and his thanks for your generosity in sending me over there. He's also sent me home with a few things for you, Mary and the boys."

"Oh?" I asked curiously.

"They're in my bag; I'll show you later. How about you? How have you been?"

"Lonely," I told him. "I see now why you and Mary couldn't stand to be in the apartment all day alone."

"I'm sorry. I hope it wasn't unbearable."

"I think I managed okay for the most part."

We drove home and Dago told me all about the trip and seeing Tseten and the festivities to celebrate Buddha's birth. It all sounded so exotic and exciting; I was almost sorry that I hadn't gone with him.

When we got home, the door had barely closed before I grabbed Dago and pulled him into a fierce kiss. His tongue slipped eagerly into my mouth and we began to pull at each other's clothes, hungry with the longing to be together. We carefully made our way to the bedroom, dropping shirts, kicking off shoes, and puddling trousers along the way until we fell naked into bed.

I wasted no time in slicking up my fingers with one hand, pushing them inside of him, and spitting into my other hand to moisten my dick. Dago moaned and panted on the bed, looking up at me as I withdrew my fingers and positioned my cock. I met his eyes and waited for just a breath before I pushed into him.

The sex was frantic, but we tried about a million different positions, staying off our orgasms as long as humanly possible to prolong our enjoyment. We were dripping with sweat by the time neither of us could last a moment longer. We both knelt on the mattress, facing each other. I took hold of his cock, and he mine as we kissed deeply and finished each other manually. We came almost simultaneously; moaning into each other's mouth. I felt his cum hit me in the stomach and knew that mine must have landed somewhere near the same place on him. I felt it dripping off my fingers onto the sheets. Sometimes there was just nothing better than hot, dirty sex…

I pulled Dago down on the bed, laying with him as we both tried to catch our breath. I glanced at the clock, grinning as I realized we'd been fucking for over an hour. I felt Dago's body growing more and more slack as his breathing evened out, and I suddenly realized that he'd fallen asleep. I smiled to myself, holding him a little closer as I closed my eyes and dozed off with him.

I woke up sometime in the middle of the night to Dago gently shifting out of my arms and off the bed.

"Where you going?"

"I'm thirsty," he said, his voice raspy from a dry throat. "And we could probably use a shower. I smell like sweat…and sex."

I grinned. "Finest kind."

I heard him laugh as he headed out towards the kitchen, padding through the apartment naked. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was about 2:30 in the morning. I was glad it was Sunday and that I didn't have to be at work in a few hours. I stretched and got out of bed, following Dago into the kitchen where he was pouring a glass of orange juice.

He gulped about half the glass down in 3 large swallows, then offered the rest to me as he licked the pulp from his lips. I took the glass, finishing off the juice and set it on the counter just as Dago placed his hands on my face and kissed my lips sweetly.

"Happy birthday," he said softly as he pulled back. Dago had intentionally arranged to come back home on May 8th so that he would be here for my birthday the following day.

I smiled and pulled him back into a kiss. "We're creeping up into that old man status, Dago."

"Hardly," he laughed. "You're still in your 30's. Let's go take a shower."

We showered, shaved and dressed in boxers and t-shirts. As I used the toilet, Dago opted to change the soiled sheets, and not only had re-made the bed by the time I came back to the bedroom, but was also sitting in the middle of it with several items wrapped in brown paper.

"What's all this?"

"These are for you," he said, pointing to the largest parcel and one other small one. "Those are for Mary and the children."

I noticed there were four gifts, which meant that Tseten had included Karen in whatever gifts he given us. I smiled and reached for the smaller gift first, and Dago alerted me that it was—indeed—from Tseten. I carefully tore open the packaging to find a small statue.

"It's a Medicine Buddha," Dago said as I looked at it carefully. "Tseten thought it appropriate that a doctor should have a good luck charm for his own health and wellbeing."

I laughed, appreciating the intricate detail of the carving and carefully set it on the nightstand on my side of the bed. "What did he get for Mary and the kids?"

"For Mary, he found a bracelet made of brass, turquoise, lapis and coral; for the boys, he sent Lapsi candy; and for Karen he sent a gift that she can probably use as a blanket now, but is actually a type of silk clothing worn by women called a saree."

"He really didn't have to do that," I told Dago, surprised by Tseten's thoughtfulness.

Dago just smiled and handed me the largest of the packages. "Here, this one is your birthday present from me."

Just from sheer experience, I could tell it was a bottle. I tore into the paper and found a decanter full of a pale liquid. There was no label on the bottle and I couldn't even venture a guess as to what type of beverage it was.

Naturally, Dago enlightened me. "It's called Chhaang. It's kind of like beer in the fact that it's brewed with either barley, millet, or—in this case—rice. The Tibetans call it the 'Nectar of the Gods' but I actually got this in Nepal. There it's called 'thoo-n'. It doesn't keep particularly long, but it's quite good. Given your affinity for alcohol, I thought you might enjoy sampling something a little more unusual."

I smiled at him, leaning in to kiss him. "Thank you. If it wasn't almost three in the morning, I'd suggest we crack it open and have a glass."

"It's best served room temperature in the summer, and warm during the winter, though I doubt that'll keep until winter."

"Well, we'll be sure to finish it off before it goes bad." I set the bottle next to the Buddha figure on the nightstand and moved the other packages out of the way before taking Dago in my arms and laying down with him in the bed again. "I'm glad you're home, baby…I've missed you so much."

"I missed you, too, Hawkeye."

We ended up falling back asleep and sleeping until after 10am when the phone rang with Mary and the boys calling to wish me a happy birthday. Dago seemed really jet lagged and tired, so we made it a lazy day, just lounging around the apartment, watching television, and dozing off on the couch.

I decided to break open the bottle of Chhaang he'd brought back and poured us both a glass of the pale beer. It had a strange taste, almost like Japanese sake, but it wasn't unpleasant, and it did seem to be rather refreshing. It certainly seemed to be a little stronger than regular beer, and I decided I probably shouldn't risk a second glass.

After a light dinner, Dago still seemed really lethargic and opted to just shower and sleep to try and reenergize his body. I wasn't tired, so I ended up watching T.V. alone until about 10:30 when I decided to turn in as well.

The next day he seemed a little more like his normal, chipper self and we got up and headed to the V.A. hospital together, jumping right back into our normal weekly routine.

He ended up asking if I minded him coming with me to Crabapple Cove that weekend so that he could give Mary and the kids the gifts from Tseten, saying also that he had something he wanted to talk to me about, but not giving me any more information than that. I felt disturbed by the fact that he wouldn't tell me, knowing from the seriousness of his request that I probably wouldn't like whatever he had to say.

On Saturday afternoon, Dago finally asked to speak to both Mary and me, together. We sat in the kitchen and Mary and I both looked at Dago anxiously as he gathered his thoughts.

"Being in Nepal and traveling through the countryside has rekindled the passion I have to do missionary work. While I wasn't on official Church business while I was there, I was able to witness to several people, and realized that there was no one to minister to those people." Dago paused, looking briefly at both of us before his eyes focused solely on mine. "Earlier this week, I contacted the Maryknolls to suggest a mission to Nepal and…offered to lead a new church. They haven't made a ruling yet, and they will have to do a bit of research, as well as petition the Vatican for support of a new parish, but…I thought you should know that there's a possibility that I'll be returning to Nepal in the near future."

"How near?" I asked, stunned by the news, and devastated by the thought of being separated from him again.

"I'm not sure. It could be a couple of months, it could be longer."

A slight anger began to burn in my stomach. "Why didn't you tell me about this before, Dago?"

"I knew it would upset you," he said softly. "I didn't want to say anything if there wasn't a possibility of it actually happening."

Mary reached over and took my hand, comfortingly. "Well, John, I for one think it's a wonderful opportunity, and I'm glad that you seem to have found your path again. Aren't you, Hawkeye?"

I wasn't happy in the slightest. I'd known the day would come that Dago would go back to the church, but I had hoped it wouldn't be so soon. "Yeah…great. It's just great." I answered, unenthusiastically.

Dago seemed disappointed but not surprised by my response and I saw him sigh softly.

An awkward silence fell over us and I finally just excused myself and went over to Dad's to get away from Dago for a while. I knew it wasn't intentional, but I felt somewhat betrayed…or maybe just responsible for all of this. I was, after all, the one who bought him a plane ticket to go over there and see Tseten. I should have known Dago couldn't leave the whole God thing behind.

It was selfish, but I wanted to be angry with him. Dago had always made it very clear that the arrangement we currently had was only temporary until he figured out what to do, but wasn't the V.A. good enough for him? Wasn't I good enough? Couldn't he at least stick it out with me until I finished my residency? Then, I could go home to Mary and he could do whatever the hell he wanted. Didn't I get a say in any of this?

When I finally came back home in the early evening, Dago and Mary were out on the back porch watching the boys climb a tree. Dago was leaning against the rail, smoking a cigarette with a contemplative look on his face while Mary sat in a rocker with Karen, giving her a bottle.

"Dago…" He looked over at me with a blank expression. "Can I talk to you…alone?"

"Of course." He answered, putting his cigarette out and following me off the porch and down the path of the driveway.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets as we meandered along, looking down at the ground. "I don't want you to leave."

"I know you don't," he said carefully. "But it's not up to me, Hawkeye."

"What do you mean it's not up to you?" I asked, stopping abruptly to face him, the anger quickly surging again, despite my attempt to be calm and rational about this. "Who the fuck would it be up to, if not you? You're the one who contacted those goddamn Maryknolls behind my back."

"I didn't contact them behind your back," he countered, clearly hurt. "I told you, I didn't want to say anything until it was more than just a thought because I know how you feel about my leaving. You've made it quite plain that you think I should give up my entire life for your every whim, Hawkeye, but even as much as I love you, I _can't_ do that. I gave my life to God long before I met you. It's completely unfair of you to make me choose between you and Him."

"I've never made you choose between me and your God, Dago," I told him bitterly. "I've respected your faith as much as I can, I've tried to understand it, I've tried to realize that He's more important to you than I am—"

He gave an exasperated laugh and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. "Oh…Jesus wept…can't you see how wrong you are about that, Hawkeye? While I love and serve God as best as I know how, I have sacrificed my relationship with Him for you. I have broken my vows, sacred laws, I have risked eternity in Hell just for the chance to share in this love with you. Whether you realize it or not, you have made everyone around you sacrifice _something_ just to be near you, Hawkeye."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"If you really don't know, then I'm wasting my breath," he said sadly. "Do you think it's fair to your wife and children that they should have to share you with me?"

"Yeah? And what about my sacrifices, Dago? The sacrifice of not seeing them for 2 years while I was in Korea, the sacrifice of letting them stay in Maine and only seeing them on the weekend while I finish this residency? I've sacrificed for you, too, you know."

"How?" He asked skeptically.

"I swore to my wife to always be faithful to her. Being in Korea…we were so far apart that I felt those promises I made to her didn't matter, or somehow didn't count. So I fooled around with Dish and Becky and you. I told myself I wouldn't make plans for the future with anyone, that once I went home, I'd go back to my wife and that was that. The three of you would just be a whimsical smile on my face that Mary would never understand. I sacrificed the trust Mary had in me for you."

"I never asked you to."

"And I never asked you to risk Hell for me."

We stared at each other for a long minute, both quietly angry and hurt.

"I know you don't want me to go, Hawkeye…" Dago said softly. "But I have to. He's calling to me. This is what I'm supposed to do."

"And what about me, Dago?" I asked tightly, feeling dangerously close to breaking down. "What about us?"

"It doesn't have to be over between us," he told me, swallowing hard. "I'll still try and see you whenever I can."

"'Try'?" I laughed sardonically. "'Try' to see me? That instills so much confidence in me, Dago. When will you 'try' to see me? Once a year? Twice a year?"

"I can't answer that." He said, quietly seething at my mockery. "I would hope to see you a few times a year but—"

"Oh, save it, Dago." I cut him off. "We knew back in Korea that an on-going relationship was a pipe dream."

"So, rather than give it a shot, you'd rather just say to hell with it?" He asked in a defeated tone.

I didn't know what I was saying at this point. It certainly felt like this was all going to hell in a hand basket. I sighed and looked at him, feeling nothing but resentment for the first time since realizing how I felt for him. It made my heart ache. "You're not leaving me much of a choice."

His eyes watered and I watched him swallow hard. "Why does it have to be all or nothing with you, Hawkeye?"

I didn't answer him and had to look away as he wiped a tear from his eye.

"Do you at least still love me?" He asked quietly, his voice trembling.

"Right now I just resent you." I admitted, my voice colder than I intended it to be.

Dago looked as though I'd punched him in the stomach. I watched the tears roll from his eyes as he started at me, completely devastated. I wanted to tell him that I still loved him—of course I did—but I was angry and hurt, and didn't see the point in making promises about a future that would never happen. I turned, unable to stand there any longer…knowing I would break down as well at any moment…and walked away.

I heard him sob before he stifled the sound, and my own tears started to leak from my eyes. I kept walking, willing my feet not to turn around and run back to him. I knew I'd wounded him deeply, maybe irreparably, but we'd both have a good cry, deal with our angry and whatever else, and then fix it later. That's the way it always seemed to work between us…

When Dago didn't come back to the house by nightfall, fear clutched at my stomach and a million thoughts filled my head at once. What if something had happened to him? What if he had done something to himself? What if he was out there, alone in the dark, completely destroyed because of me. I grabbed a flashlight and headed for the door.

Walking down the driveway, I called out for Dago, shining the light every which way for a glimpse of where he might be. By the time I made it to the end of the road, I felt in a near panic. I ran back to the house, fast as I could, hoping that maybe I'd somehow missed him and he'd slipped by me back to the house.

"Is he here?" I asked Mary, completely out of breath. "Did he come back?"

"No… you didn't find him?" There was obvious concern in her own voice.

I went to the phone and called Dad. "Pop…is Dago over there with you?"

"Dago? Why would he be here?"

"He's gone missing. I can't find him anywhere."

"He ain't missing," Dad said, with slight confusion. "He asked me to take him to town . Said he couldn't stay 'til tomorrow but didn't want to bother you or Mary for a lift. I thought it was strange, but he seemed a might upset, so I took him up the station. There was a bus scheduled to leave 'bout an hour ago headed south. I suppose he got himself on it."

"He's gone?" I asked, my knees going week. I sank down in a chair.

"What's the matter with you, Hawkeye? I didn't stutter, did I?"

"No…I'm just…surprised." I felt like I'd been sliced from nose to navel and my guts were spilling out on the floor. "Thanks, Dad… I'll talk to you later."

I hung up without waiting for his reply and dropped my head in my hands.

"Hawkeye?" Mary asked, still concerned.

"He left…Dad took him to the station in town and…he left. What have I done, Mary? What have I done?"

Mary wrapped her arms around me, hugging me tightly. "I'm sure it'll be alright, Hawkeye."

"He asked me if I still love him," I sniffed as tears began to fall again. "I told him I just resented him."

"Oh…Hawkeye…" Mary whispered, sadly.

"I didn't mean it…" I cried, swallowing hard. "I was just upset. He knows that right? He has to. He has to know I still love him."

She didn't try to reassure me even though she continued to hold me, and somehow I knew that Dago was gone from my life forever…

The thought nearly crippled me, and I cried on Mary's shoulder, consumed by the loss of my friend and lover.

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulcahy's POV.
> 
> The scenes in New Orleans are from M*A*S*H Goes to New Orleans, written by Richard Hooker and William E. Butterworth (1975). All character quotes in that scene are directly quoted (with one or two minor changes). No copyright infringement intended. Read the book if you haven't. Totally worth it.

I felt numb as I sat on the bus, staring out the dirty window as we roared down the highway. My mind couldn't comprehend what had happened. I couldn't understand how Hawkeye could have resented me so much that it had overridden his affection for me. His rejection had almost killed me; but judging by the emptiness I felt inside, I wasn't entire convinced it hadn't.

I had never imagined that things might go so horribly wrong once Hawkeye and I had come to the crossroads when I would have to leave him. I knew, of course, that he would be upset, but his reaction was so far beyond the spectrum of my wildest dreams that I almost felt like he wasn't even the same person.

Hawkeye had always seemed to be a little bit of a Jekyll and Hyde when it came to not getting his way in something. In Korea, he'd turned on me so easily that it had left my head spinning. There had been multiple occasions when he'd said something hurtful just out of spite, but this was more than just spitefulness. This had completely broken my heart.

Though I had nowhere to go, I knew I couldn't stay with Hawkeye, and I returned to the apartment just long enough to collect my personal effects. I had left some of my belongings in Crabapple Cove, but seeing as how most of the clothes I wore 'off duty' were Hawkeye's anyways, I didn't consider it much of a loss. Things could be replaced…

I felt guilty leaving without so much as a goodbye to Mary after all she'd put up with over the course of my relationship with Hawkeye, and so I sat at the kitchen table to write her a letter of apology that I intended to mail back to her home in Crabapple Cove, knowing that I couldn't leave it up to Hawkeye to deliver.

_My Dear Mary,_

_I can never express the gratitude I feel for you. Your friendship and understanding has been a blessing to me, and I only wish that you and I had met under different conditions. While I know you have accepted my relationship with Hawkeye, I will never be able to forgive myself for it. You are a good woman; a good wife and mother; a good friend. I am truly sorry for any pain I might have caused you or your family, be it through my involvement with Hawkeye, or my abrupt departure from your lives._

_Wherever my path in life takes me, I shall always remember your kindness, and I shall always think of you as my friend._

_May God bless you, Mary Pierce._

_Sincerely,_

_Ft. John P. Mulcahy_

I found an envelope and sealed the letter within, tucking it away to be mailed later, then sat back down at the table to pen my last words to Hawkeye.

Tears filled my eyes as I tried to think of what to say, wondering if he would even bother reading it.

_Dear Hawkeye,_

_I never imagined that our lives would ever come to this. A final goodbye written in vain as a love that should have never been is lost._

_I know you resent me and the choice I have made to return to missionary work, but I hope that one day you'll understand that, as a priest—as a Christian, my life is not my own. I live to serve the Lord, my God. I go where I am needed; I follow the call of my heart. As much as I love you, Hawkeye, I cannot shirk my responsibility any longer. I'm sorry you cannot see the distinction between desire and duty. If I could stay with you forever and still be a missionary, I would…but—as you so bluntly put it—that is a pipe dream._

_I should have never allowed this relationship to happen, but I am not sorry that it did. Loving you has been one of the greatest joys of my life. You have shown me things, taught me things, that I will cherish forever. I hope that when you look back on our time together, you will have no regrets either. Even if you do still love me, our lives are heading in two separate directions now. I'll return to missionary work; you'll finish your residency and return to your family. I don't think either of us would be satisfied with only seeing each other once or twice a year, though I know we both hoped it could sustain us._

_I wish nothing but good things in life for you, Hawkeye. I know that you still rail against God for the loss of your mother, but I hope you can see how much he has blessed you with—a devoted and loving wife, three beautiful children, friends and family who would do anything for you, and the power to heal the sick._

_You and Mary have done so much for me since the end of the war, and I could never repay your kindness, but I would like to repay you for the expense—or some of it—of the trip to Nepal. I suppose, ironically, I have you to thank for all of this. If you refuse to accept my money as repayment, then put it in a trust fund for your children._

_There is so much I wish I could say, and I wish the last word wasn't 'goodbye,' but it is time for us to both move on. I wish things weren't ending this way—in a letter you might never read—but I cannot face you with the way that I'm feeling right now. Your last words and the way you walked away from me… You've broken my heart, Hawkeye, and left a scar that will never heal. And yet, despite the pain, I forgive you… Corinthians 13 will tell you why, should you choose to look it up._

_I'll never forget you, Ben…and I'll always love you._

_Eternally,_

_Dago_

I pulled a roll of bills from one of my socks in my bag that I kept on hand for emergencies, and counted out several hundred dollars, knowing that the round-trip airfare alone had probably cost Hawkeye in the neighbor of $600-$700. I knew I could leave him about $450 without running myself too short, so I folded the bills inside the letter and placed it on his pillow in the bedroom.

I felt another onslaught of tears threatening to fall as I looked at the bed where we had both slept together and made love so many times, deeply feeling the pain of that loss. I ached to feel his arms around me, and I nearly tore up the letter and stayed in hopes that we could still work this out, but I knew that I would just be prolonging the inevitable by doing so.

With a deep breath and a prayer for strength, I left my copy of the key to the apartment on the table, picked up my belongings and walked out.

I hired a cab to take me to New York, not caring how much the fare would cost. If the cabbie thought it odd for a middle-aged man to be sobbing uncontrollably in the back of his cab, he politely said nothing during the drive.

I spent the first few days holed up in a motel room, unable to do little more than sleep or cry or cry myself to sleep. I could think of nothing but Hawkeye, and though I never wished ill on anyone, I found myself hoping he was as miserable as I was. The last moments with him in Crabapple Cove replayed over and over and over again in my mind like a broken record. I was so grief-stricken, so sick over losing him that I truly didn't care if I just laid there and died….and I might have if God hadn't stepped in.

Whether it truly was God, or simply a hallucination brought on by despair and lack of sustenance, I heard a voice speaking to me—just a vague, indecipherable whisper at first, but then louder and clearer, as if someone was in the room with me.

"Get up, John." The voice told me. "Get up and weep no more."

There was nothing said beyond that, but I felt compelled to obey. I rose from the bed only to fall to my knees and pray. By the time I finished my prayer, I felt somewhat renewed, and I knew that I would not cry again for the love I had lost. I cleaned myself up, and pulled out the clericals that I had not worn in nearly 6 months, carefully dressing in them as I quietly thanked God for His presence and His comfort. Then I left the room for the first time in several days, ate, and visited the Maryknolls in person.

"Father Mulcahy!" Sister Camilla Angelica, who had been with the missionaries since before I was sent to Tibet greeted me with a warm hug which was a balm to my wounded spirit. "What good fortune it is that you came today! Father Fredrick was just speaking of you yesterday. Shall I tell him you're here?"

"Please, Sister, that would be kind of you."

Moments later, Father Fredrick returned with the Sister and shook my hand in greeting. "I've good news, Father. Come, let us talk in my office."

I followed Father Fredrick down the corridor and sat across from him, declining a drink as he began to speak.

"Have you heard of the Nepal Evangelistic Band?" Father Fredrick asked me as he poured himself a scotch. I shook my head. "Neither had I until just a few days ago. It was started up just a couple of years ago by several doctors who were granted permission to open a hospital in Pokhara, Nepal on the stipulation that they would not be involved in proselytizing or political activities. In other words, they were allowed to provide medical treatment only, but since then, they have established the first Protestant Church of Nepal, the Ramghat Church of Pokhara, in which they hold services in secret in the compound beneath the hospital. Your request for a mission trip to Nepal couldn't have come at a more opportune time, John; there are several representatives from different denominations organizing one of the largest cooperative mission trips to the area. The Catholic Church, as of this moment, has no representative in the organization. His Holiness has recommended you to represent the Catholic Church to the committee members."

"Me?" I asked, completely surprised. "Oh, Father, that is quite a shock…Surely they would want someone other than a mere priest to represent the entirety of the Catholic Church."

"Who better to represent the Church in a missionary organization, than a missionary priest with years of experience in that region?"

I couldn't argue with that, even though I still felt a representative from the Vatican would probably be better suited to represent the Church, but a recommendation from the Pope…that was overwhelming.

Father Fredrick smiled with a soft laugh, "We'll be sending you to Kathmandu to meet with the representatives of the missionary group, who are calling themselves the United Mission to Nepal. They are looking forward to meeting the priest who has come highly recommended not only by our organization, but by His Holiness."

I felt a chill run down my spine as I realized that all of this was God's perfect design. My befriending Tseten, ultimate expulsion from his country, Hawkeye's gift to send me to Nepal…it was all Divine Intervention that would lead me to where I was this very day. God himself had pulled me out of my bed of sorrow and brought me here to be appointed His representative in a interdenominational organization. I couldn't ask for a clearer sign that God was still using me for His work on earth. I felt overcome with emotion, and shielded my eyes from Father Fredrick as they began to tear up.

"We're all very excited for you, John."

"Thank you, Father."

Two days later I found myself boarding another trans-Atlantic flight that would eventually lead me back to Nepal, where I would travel to Kathmandu, the HQ of the United Mission to Nepal.

Though still in its infancy, I quickly learned that the organization wasn't wasting any time in establishing themselves around the country. The committee informed me that they were nearing completion of the first mission hospital in Tansen, and they had plans to begin outreach in other areas as well.

"We've focused mainly on the southern region of Nepal, primarily in the Kathmandu Valley," I was informed. "But we'd like to extend our influence in the north towards the Tibet-China border. We've been told that you are exiled from these two countries?"

"Yes, an unfortunate misunderstanding between myself and the Tibetan government."

"And you recently served as chaplain for a MASH unit in Korea?"

"That is also correct."

"Would you feel comfortable in helping us establish a medical center in Kodari?"

Kodari, as I quickly discovered, was directly on the border of Nepal and Tibet, and a permanent medical center was to be built barely more a stone's throw from the soil I was forbidden to ever set foot on again. The village, which was located at the foot of the Himalayan Mountains, was steeped in history, as ancient merchants bound for Lhasa would journey from Kodari up through the trans-Himalayan caravan route through the Kuti pass into Tibet. The village was still a major trading center between the two countries, which was one of the reasons the UMN was so interested in procuring a facility here, as there would be a steady flow of merchants and travelers to serve.

While I felt a little uncomfortable about being so close to the border of Tibet and China, I knew there must be a reason for God placing me here, and so I accepted the offer to help expand the organization to the northern border of Nepal. My primary purpose at the medical center would be to lead underground worship services and merely be a representative of Christ's love. I was told never to preach the word of God beyond my services, but instead to lead by example. I would work alongside two doctors and one nurse who were missionaries of the UMN, but otherwise, the four of us would be on our own in Kodari until a more permanent structure was built and we could recruit more medical missionaries. As a committee leader, I would be expected to attend committee meetings once a month on our progress in the village.

Arriving in Kodari, reminded me how much I enjoyed being a missionary in Lhasa. The village was hardly more than a shanty town, though the main thoroughfare through town was lined with shops of all kinds of trade goods—millet and grain and silk among the most common. The people went about their daily lives with barely more than just a curious glance as we set about turning an old building into a temporary medical center. It was a crude set up, as we didn't have much supplies yet, but the doctors had examination equipment and a few vaccinations to at least begin to see people. We sectioned off the back area of the structure for sleeping quarters, and I would be spending my time turning the dark cellar underneath the structure into a workable sanctuary.

I wanted desperately to write to Hawkeye and tell him where I was and what I was doing, but instead I wrote my letters to Tseten under the Tibetan name he and the monks had given me, Kipu Tenzin, while I journaled what I wanted to say to Hawkeye in the language that only he and I could read. I didn't know if Hawkeye would ever read this journal, but it brought me great comfort to write my sorrows and regrets and ongoing love for him in an open letter.

Though it took several months for us to really get established, by the end of the monsoon season we had several regular members of our underground church, and several families in the village who came to us for medical care. The committee was pleased with our progress, and how quickly our numbers were growing, and began to send me on assignments to other new establishments around Nepal to offer advice or consultation on what they could do to improve outreach in their communities.

By May of the following year, they named me the UMN ambassador of the region, and my job became solely focused on acting as an advisor to the priests and missionaries. I was stationed in Kathmandu at the headquarters but traveled around Nepal about 80% of the time. While I primarily met with the missionaries, I still made it a personal goal to visit with the locals in each region I traveled to. I still found history and culture and religion to be quite fascinating topics to discuss with the locals, and there were several elders that I quickly became acquainted with that I always looked forward to visiting. That personal interaction was what helped me maintain the feeling that I was still a missionary and not just some glorified mentor, and it began to rub off on the newer missionaries, who saw what a little interaction with people could do.

While I stayed busy with traveling or meetings or interacting with locals, my thoughts never seemed too far away from Hawkeye. I wondered if he ever thought of me, or if my leaving had only reinforced his resentment and he had resolved to forget about me. I knew he must be finished, or close to finished, with his residency. Karen would be nearly a year and a half now, and the boys would have gotten bigger, too. Did any of them think of me? Wonder how I was or if they'd ever see me again?

I thought of writing often, of sending birthday cards or Christmas cards, or gifts from the various villages in Nepal. Tseten had encouraged me on more than one occasion to write, saying that a true friendship never dies and that I would only live to regret not writing some day.

Before I knew it though, another 5 years had passed. It was April of 1960. I was 49 years old, and I was currently on my way to Rome at the behest of Pope John XXIII. The Venerable Pope Pius XII, who had recommended my appointment to the UMN committee had passed away in October 1958. His successor, John XXIII, was said to be a good humored and kind man who often liked to walk the streets at night, earning him the nickname "Johnny Walker." I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out why the Pope would want to see me of all people, but I was anxious to find out.

I tried not to fidget as I waited to be seen by His Holiness. I had worn my best cassock for the occasion, but I still feared I would be undressed to meet the Pope. After an hour, I was granted a private audience with His Holiness…and nearly vomited on him from nerves as I kissed the papal ring.

"I'm pleased you could come, Father." He said in perfect, practiced Latin.

Oh God…Could I even remember how to speak formal Latin?

I answered slowly, "Thank you, Your Holiness; I am honored to be here."

"Your work in Nepal has become something of legend around here."

"My work, Your Holiness?" I was surprised and confused. Had I done something of true value? "Forgive me, but the mission in Nepal is a combined effort of many. I have only done what has been asked of me."

"On the contrary, Father," he smiled pleasantly. "I have it on good authority that the mission work would never have made it to this point without you. Your connection with the people has inspired many of us—myself included. You walk among them, learning about them, sharing in their lives, history, culture, teaching them of kindness and generosity…much as Christ our Lord did when he walked upon this earth. Many of us have set out to follow your example. I have made pastoral visits to my diocese in Rome, I have visited children at the hospital, prisoners…and I am not the only one, Father."

I was speechless. Truly speechless. I had never considered that my genuine interest in the lives of the locals would be compared to the same path Jesus walked before his crucifixion. I certainly did not feel worthy of such a comparison to my savior.

"Your praise is too kind, Your Holiness."

The Pope transitioned fluidly between Latin to English, "Tell me, Father; what projects have you helped to advise on in the Nepal mission?"

"All of them, Your Holiness….in some capacity, but it was my suggestion that we start an education program, and we established two schools in the region. We've also just begun a program for rural development."

"Pius, always had an eye on you, Father. When I took over from him, I was aware of who you were and the work you were doing in Nepal. I have also been watching you closely."

My heart was thudding loudly against my chest.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I've called you here, Father."

"Yes, Your Holiness."

"The work you have done in Nepal is to be commend; you have risen to every challenge set before you, overseeing and mentoring the Nepalese districts…almost like an archbishop might do over his territory. These tasks were not assigned at random, Father…the Church, as I said, has been watching you."

I stopped breathing and waited for him to continue, feeling the seconds tick by slowly.

"I would like to give you a new mission," he said, pausing again. "As you may or may not know, since your exile from Tibet and China, we have established more than 20 archdioceses, 85 dioceses, 39 apostolic prefectures, sent over 3000 missionaries, and have roughly 2500 priests."

"I am pleased to hear that, Your Holiness."

"I thought you might be," he smiled. "The reason I've asked you to come, Father, is because I find myself in need of an archbishop for the Swengchan province in China. I understand that the conditions of your exile mean that you cannot physically preside over the territory, of course, so you would be the archbishop in title only, but you would still be responsible for the Swengchan archdiocese."

"Your Holiness, I'm…I'm…I'm speechless. I'm honored, of course, but…speechless. I'm not sure what to say."

He laughed. "Say you'll accept, John."

"Of course, Your Holiness."

I felt I could be knocked over with a feather. Me? An archbishop? Who cares if it was titular or not…never had I ever imagined I would be an archbishop. Nor had I ever thought the Pope and his advisors would be watching me so closer, or that I would be inspiring others unknowingly. It was almost too much.

"Of course, I also realize that not being able to preside over your district also presents several problems, namely living arrangements and an office in which to work from. The Church would like to offer you an apartment near St. Peter's Church, as well as space here in the Vatican to perform your duties."

"That's very gracious, Your Holiness. When would you like me to begin?"

"Today," he smiled. "I've sent for your things to be shipped here from Nepal, and they should arrive in a few days. In the meantime, my assistant will show you to your office and introduce you to your new secretary."

I felt somewhat sad that I wouldn't get the opportunity to return to Nepal and say goodbye to some of the elders I had met over the last several years, but I resolved to send something to each of the villages as a way of thanking them for all they had done for me, and letting them know they wouldn't soon be forgotten.

"I am certain I will see you around, Archbishop," he smiled.

I again kissed the papal ring, thanking him profusely before his assistant led me out of the office. I was escorted through several corridors, to an office where my name and title had already been etched on the glass door. I stared at it for a long moment, before the assistant chuckled softly.

"You don't have to stand outside; go in."

With a shaking hand, I opened the door and found myself in a small reception room with a man seated at a desk. He stood as we came in.

"Your Eminence," the papal assistant said, and I wasn't sure if he was addressing me, or the man who was now standing in front of me. "May I introduce your secretary, the very Reverend Monsignor Pancho de Malaga y de Villa. Monsignor, the titular Archbishop of Swengchan, China, John Mulcahy."

"Your Eminence," Monsignor Malaga y de Villa gave a short bow of respect as I stuck out my hand to him. I laughed nervously, retrieving my empty hand awkwardly.

"This is going to take some getting used to," I admitted. "Ten minutes ago I was simply Father Mulcahy. I'm not sure I'll be able to get used to 'Your Eminence.'"

"It will take some time," the Monsignor said with a friendly smile. "Please, let me show your office, Your Eminence."

The papal assistant bid us adieu and left the office, closing the door, and I looked at my secretary. "I'd really prefer it if you just called me Father…or even just John."

"Of course, Your Eminence."

I sighed softly. We were going to have to work on that… I followed the shorter, dark haired Spaniard in through another office door and stopped abruptly as I crossed the threshold. The office was incredible. There was a large, ornate mahogany desk polished to a shine and centered before a large window that looked out over the courtyard of the Vatican. There were two black leather chairs in front of the desk and a large, comfortable looking chair behind the desk. There was a depiction of Christ on the cross hanging on one wall, and an empty bookcase on another wall.

"This is my office?"

"Yes, Your Eminence."

"You've really got to cut that out," I told him. "Honestly…just call me Father when we're alone."

"Of course…Father." He said with some effort.

"What should I call you?"

"Whatever you desire, Your…" I arched my eyebrow, cutting him off. "Father."

"How about I just call you Pancho? Is that alright?"

"Of course, Father."

"Good, now we're getting somewhere." I rubbed my hands together and looked around. "What exactly should I be doing right now?"

"It would be my honor to give you a tour of the Vatican, Father."

Touring the Vatican was a dream come true. As Pancho led me into the Sistine Chapel, I nearly had to pinch myself to make sure this _wasn't_ just a dream. I gazed up at the ceiling Michelangelo had painted in the 1500s, trying to imagine what he must have felt like be suspended some 70 feet in the air trying to paint a ceiling back in those days. To see the paintings done by Perugino, Botticelli, Rosselli, and Ghirlandaio on the walls of the chapel was like being transported back in time. I was awestruck by the architecture of the building and the sheer magnificence of it.

Pancho took me through the Vatican Museums, Raphael's Room, and over to St. Peter's Basilica. I wished that I had my camera with me so that I could take pictures of everything, but I had to tell myself that I _lived_ here now…I could see all of this whenever I wanted. The last stop on the tour was the modest apartment building near the church that I assumed is where I would be staying. Pancho unlocked a door with a key and gestured for me to enter first.

The apartment was completely furnished with the basics—a full kitchen, a couch and chair, and I assumed a bedroom suite in the room down the hall. It was spacious and comfortable, plenty of room to accommodate one person. In the back of mind, though, I couldn't help but think of sharing it with Hawkeye. My heart seized with momentary pain at the memory of our relationship and I quietly scolded myself for having such thoughts. Hawkeye and I were through, finished, finito. We had been for almost six years now. I needed to move on. My life was here now. I was an archbishop. The time for wanderlust and romance was over…if there had ever been an appropriate time for such flights of fancy.

"I am told your belongings will arrive before the end of the week," Pancho was saying. "I've been instructed to get you fitted for your new vestments and take you to get whatever you may need in the meantime."

"Is there anything you don't do?"

Pancho looked at me curiously for a long moment as if trying to assess what type of personality I had. "Laundry?"

I laughed and clapped Pancho on the back. "I think you and I will get along just fine, Pancho."

The first few weeks in my new office felt like a whirlwind as I tried to learn the reigns of policy and procedure, and figured out just what my duties as titular archbishop entailed. Pancho helped as best as he could, but being only a secretary, he wasn't privy to all the duties I was responsible for.

I was in the middle of reading files for every parish in my archdiocese, when there was a knock on my office door. I looked up, curious as to who was knocking, as I'd already instructed Pancho it wasn't necessary.

"Come in," I called, then mumbled, "Whoever you are."

I was surprised when His Holiness entered my office and I scrambled to my feet, making the short, plump man in white laugh and wave his hand.

"Relax, Father. I've simply come to see how you are settling in?"

"Oh, of course, Your Holiness. It's going…well."

He gave me a knowing look.

"To be honest, Your Holiness, I'm a bit lost on what exactly I should be doing."

He smiled. "Yes, I thought you might be. It can be quite daunting, no?"

"Very," I said with a slight laugh.

His Holiness guided me on what duties he expected me to complete each month, but not how I should go about completing them. I figured that much would be for me to figure out through trial and error. I felt somewhat better now that I had a little direction and guidance in what I should be doing.

"Thank you, Your Holiness; I cannot tell you what a relief your visit is."

"My pleasure, Father. Now, I was wondering if I might seek your advice on a matter. Unofficially of course."

"Yes, of course. How can I help?"

His Holiness laced his fingers together over his stomach as he thought. "I'm not an ignorant man; I know that I was voted into this office because I would have a short reign. I'm an old man, John. I will be blessed if I live to see another 5 years. The only reason I am here is because Archbishop Montini had not yet been elevated to the College of Cardinals when Pius passed. Even I had expected he would be Pius' successor."

"With all due respect, Your Holiness, I believe that your own merit and service to God and the Church is what gained you your status."

"Yes, well, you would be the only one," he said with a laugh. "Whatever the case may be, I want to be remembered for good works…I want to call an ecumenical council."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. No pope had ever called a council since the 1860s. An ecumenical council had one purpose: to change Church doctrine and practices. It was a bold move, and I told him such.

"Yes, I know, but the world is changing, John. The Church must change along with it if we are to thrive." He pinned with a serious look. "What do you think I should do?"

I considered his question for a long moment. I was in no way qualified to advise the Pope, and this was probably highly irregular, but my opinion was unofficial. "I think that you should do what you feel is in the best interest of His children, Your Holiness. The world is changing, as you said, but you should consider whether or not the Church is ready to change with it. Changes in doctrine could cause more harm than good."

He considered this for a long time, then nodded. "I think I will take that risk. Thank you, Father."

I continued to offer my unofficial advice to His Holiness whenever he sought it out, all while continuing to learn my duties as an archbishop. Even though I couldn't directly preside over my bishops and priests, I spoke to them frequently and often had them visit me in Rome. I'd always heard that it takes a good year before you really feel comfortable in a new position, and that certainly seemed to be the case here…

On September 24th, 1962, I was summoned to His Holiness' office, where another man—a Cardinal—was seated with him. His Holiness smiled almost sadly and beckoned me into the office, where I knelt and kissed the papal ring.

"Please, sit." He said softly. "Do you know Cardinal Montini, Archbishop?"

"Only by reputation," I admitted, shaking the other man's hand. "Pleased to meet you, Cardinal."

"Yes, likewise, Archbishop. You've established quite a name for yourself around here, too. Even before your arrival."

I felt myself blushing, and looked back at His Holiness, "You called for me, sir?"

"Yes." He sighed. "I'm afraid that I have some unfortunate news…I have just learned that I have cancer of the stomach."

"My God…" I breathed. "Is it operable?"

He laughed softly. "Dear John, I once told you I would be blessed to see another five years. The doctors believe that, with good nutrition and blood transfusions, I will have perhaps another year."

"My condolences, Your Holiness." The Cardinal said. "If there is anything I can do…"

"Giovanni," His Holiness smiled. "You and I both know that you will be my successor. You would already be serving as Pope had Pius put you in the College of Cardinals. My purpose for informing the two of you is so that you might know each other. John has been a dear friend and trusted advisor—unofficial of course. It would serve you well to consider him a friend also, Giovanni. God has blessed him with a true gift of grace and understanding and compassion. He may be among your best allies; he remembers that we are here to serve God, not ourselves."

My face flushed again at his praise. I had never thought the Pope considered me a friend; I felt truly honored and humbled, and saddened that this man would soon be lost to us.

As Cardinal Montini and I left His Holiness, the other man looked at me curiously. "He has always been rather unorthodox, but I feel he may be right about you, Archbishop. I would like to buy you a drink."

Montini, I learned, had a similar interest in all religions, and had encouraged his congregations not to shun others of different beliefs, but rather embrace them and learn about them.

The Cardinal and I became fast friends. Our interests and philosophies were quite the same in many respects and he was a quiet intellectual like myself. We would often meet for a drink once a week, sharing our life stories and exchanging ideas. We spoke of theology, philosophy, music, art and literature. He told me of his family—his aristocratic father, rural nobility mother, and his two brothers. He told me about attending a school run by the Jesuits and going onto seminary to become a priest. I learned that he had a doctorate in Canon Law, and also studied at the Accademia dei Nobili Ecclesiastici at the request of Cardinal Guiseppe Pizzardo, who later requested that Giovanni work for him in the Secretariat of the State before Pope Pius XII made him the Archbishop of Milan. Now, Giovanni was slated to be the next Pope of the Catholic Church. Next to Giovanni Montini, I felt like a complete simpleton.

"Even Jesus had a simple life," he told me as I voiced this thought.

By May of 1963, His Holiness' health had taken a turn for the worse and he suffered a major hemorrhage that required a blood transfusion, but it was too late…the cancer had perforated the wall of his stomach. Few were permitted to see him as he lay in seclusion on his death bed, and I prayed that God would be merciful and ease his pain and distress. On June 3rd, at the age of 81, my friend, Pope John XXIII, was taken home by God's angels.

His loss was mourned by all, and he was quickly referred to as "Good Pope John." I always smiled upon hearing such reference, knowing that he had left the kind of legacy he'd intended. He'd shaken the Church with his council and his call for change, but he had been a good man.

As expected, Giovanni became his successor. Though we were no longer able to have our weekly engagements, Giovanni—who had chosen the name of Paul VI—sent for me several times during the first few months in the office for unofficial advice.

I missed having a close friend, though. I missed sharing stories and thoughts and ideas. I was still in communication with Tseten on a regular basis, who—at nearly every opportunity—asked if I had yet made amends with Hawkeye. I hadn't, of course, though I still wrote to him in my journal, which seemed more like a memoirs now than anything else, as the open letter spanned the length of 6 full journals.

It had been almost 10 years since I'd last seen Hawkeye, but not a day had gone by that I didn't think of him. I still missed him deeply. I often wondered if I'd made a mistake in leaving him. Sometimes I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I had…but I knew that I wouldn't be where I was today if I'd stayed. I had to trust that I'd made the right decision, even if it meant the sacrifice of a love that meant more to me than eternal life in Heaven.

"Is there anything else I can do for you today, Father?" Pancho asked, breaking me from my thoughts. I realized that it was after 5:30 and he was ready to call it a day.

"No, Pancho; thank you for your hard work today." As Pancho turned to leave, I found myself calling him back. "Pancho…would you care to get a drink with me?"

"A drink?" Pancho looked surprised. "Sure, Father; I would be glad to."

Italian beer was not quite as good as American beer, but I had quickly learned to adapt to the drink over the last few years. As Pancho and I sat at the bar with our drinks, I turned to face him curiously. "You've been working for me for 3 years, Pancho, and I know so little about you."

"What would you care to know, Father?"

"Where are you from? How did you come to the Church?"

"I come from Toledo in España. My father was a sword maker and my mother was a costurera…a—how you say…?—seamstress."

Pancho told me about his 2 sisters and 3 brothers, one of which had been killed in the Spanish Civil War. Pancho told me about how he'd grown up around artists and musicians in Toledo, and how he'd wanted to be a painter like Pablo Picasso, who was born in Malaga, where his father's family came from. He said that it had been his grandmother who had told him that he had been 'marked by God' and was destined for the clergy, so he attended the Seminario Mayor San Ildefonso de Toledo where he received his ordination and presided over a parish in Toledo. It was the archbishop of Toledo who had given Pancho the honorary title of Monsignor and recommended him to the Roman Curia, where he now served as my assistant.

"I hope you don't feel that you've been demoted in any way by having to serve as my secretary."

"No, or course not. I am honored to serve God in any way, and secretary to the Archbishop of Swengchan, China is a noble title, yes?"

"Quite noble." I agreed, smiling.

"If I may make an observation," Pancho started slowly. "You have seen…preoccupied recently. Is there something that troubles you, Father?"

"I've just been feeling a bit melancholy," I admitted. "Thinking of old friends I haven't seen in a very long time."

Though I didn't tell Pancho about Hawkeye that evening, I eventually began to share stories of my time in Korea, and of the friends I had made. I told him about the antics and hijinks of the boys who referred to themselves as the Swampmen. Though I shared stories about my time in Tibet and Nepal as well, Pancho seemed most amused by my tales of Korea.

Talking about Hawkeye, however, made me miss him all the more. Alone at night, in my apartment, I would spend much of my time thinking about him and writing to him in my journal, the creased and faded black and white picture of us captured from our last Christmas in Korea sitting next to me.

_Do you still think of me? Do you miss me the same way I have missed you all these years? How I long to see you, speak to you, kiss you, hold you… I don't know if it's pride or propriety or the sheer daunting thought of just how much time has passed that keeps me from reaching out to you again now. Each time I think of it, I remember our last conversation. Do you still resent me?_

Pancho became one of my most trusted friends, but it wasn't for several years that I finally told him just how much Hawkeye meant to me…

"There's something I want to tell you," I prefaced in a quiet voice as we sat in my apartment drinking Italian beer, myself smoking a cigarette. "But it will change the way you think of me."

Pancho merely looked at me, waiting for me to continue.

"I haven't always been faithful in my vows of celibacy. And, moreover, I've been in love. With a man. Not just a man…" I corrected, picturing Hawkeye's face as the way it had been 15 years ago now. "Hawkeye…"

Pancho said nothing, just sipped his beer quietly, and I found myself telling him the whole story from start to finish.

"It seems to me," he finally said. "That he must have loved you very much."

"Why is that?"

"Only love could cause so much anger in a person."

I mulled over his words long after he left that evening, trying to find comfort in them at the thought that Hawkeye had still loved me, but only feeling a deep sense of regret. I should have never left, and now it was too late to go back…

Turning 60 felt like an accomplishment rather than a milestone, as I was beginning to feel every single one of my years. Even though I presided over my churches from Rome, my duties still kept me very busy, and I was still offering private counsel to His Holiness—though those times seemed to be fewer and fewer these days. I was also involved in several councils that met once or twice every week to discuss everything from gender issues to foreign affairs to mission trips.

Pancho had remained my assistant, declining all of my recommendations for a promotion, and we still kept our practice of lounging around my apartment with a beer on the evenings when I didn't feel completely drained by the day's events.

I'd started writing less and less in my journal, finally concluding that Hawkeye would never read the words I'd written, and writing to him in such a way was a sheer waste of time and energy. Nevertheless, Hawkeye always seemed to be the last thought on my mind whenever I fell asleep at night. I still dreamt of him often enough that I would wake up, reaching over to him, only to find that he wasn't there and that he hadn't been for a very long time.

I told Pancho from time to time about my dreams and my inability to stop thinking about Hawkeye, and his response was always the same.

"Maybe you're not suppose to forget him."

Any time I asked him what that meant, Pancho would just shrug, finish his beer, and bid me goodnight.

Maybe it was my age, or maybe it was the fact that I seemed to be stretching myself so thin with my duties, but in the fall of 1972, I came down with a chest cold that I couldn't seem to shake. I had a deep cough and seemed to get very short of breath or tire very easily, but otherwise felt fine. I didn't have any fever or aches—other than my chest and back from coughing—but I couldn't seem to shake the respiratory infection. After a round of antibiotics with no result, the doctor finally did an x-ray of my chest to find out if there was something else going on. I was worried it might be pneumonia, but I wasn't prepared for what he told me.

"I'm not sure how to tell you this, John, but you've got lung cancer."

Cancer? The word hit me like a freight train. Surely I had misheard. "What?"

"I'm going to refer you to an oncologist," he said gently. "From what I can tell by the x-ray, it's only in your left lung right now, but the mass is dangerously close to your heart. The oncologist will be able to look at these and determine what kind of options there are for you. I'm sorry, John."

I left the office in a daze, suddenly feeling as though my body had been invaded by some type of alien from one of Hawkeye's science fiction television shows. Every time I took a breath, I swear I could feel the mass inside of me growing bigger and bigger. I automatically reached for my cigarettes, mindlessly putting one between my lips as I pulled out my lighter before my brain kicked on and I realized that I was doing the one thing that had given me this illness. I spat the cigarette out, then crumpled the pack in my hand in anger. Giving up the habit now seemed like too little, too late, but I simply couldn't bring myself to even think about enjoying the feel of the nicotine as it calmed my nerves.

Cancer…I supposed, really, the news shouldn't have been such a shock. I had been a moderate to heavy smoker for 20 years now, filling my lungs with the poison of the tobacco and nicotine. I'd played with fire, and I'd gotten burned, but the question now was how bad?

The oncologist was able to see me just a few days after I'd been referred, and he confirmed that there was a large carcinoma in my left lung. He recommended exploratory surgery to see if my condition was operable, and suggested—if it was—removing the entire lung. I had only ever had surgery once in my entire life, the day that Hawkeye had stitched me up from a knife wound… That had been a minor injury, and the surgery had sacred me to death; I couldn't even comprehend surgery to remove an entire lung, or how I would survive without it.

"Without surgery," I asked carefully. "How long would you say I have?"

"Depending on how rapidly the cancer grows…" he considered for a minute. "Perhaps a year, year and a half at best."

I felt my blood turn to ice in my veins.

"With the surgery, you could go on to live another 10, 20 years even if the cancer hasn't spread and there is no emphysema."

I shook my head, "Thank you, Doctor, but…this is God's will."

"Archbishop, please…you must at least consider—"

"Thank you, Doctor." I said firmly, getting to my feet. "God bless you."

The news was unsettling at best, but there was no way that I was going to let some stranger remove one of my lungs. If I had cancer, it was because it was part of God's plan. I would do what I could in the time I had left and then I would leave this world and all its suffering behind and join my Father in His Kingdom. I'd had a good life…I would be ready.

Pancho, of course was the first person I told of the news.

"What will you do?" He asked me, shocked and saddened.

"I'd decided not to have surgery," I said. "If this is God's will, then I shall not fight it."

"That is, of course, your choice, Father; but will you not consider any alternatives?"

"Such as?"

"There must be some treatment...medication…"

I shook my head. "Without surgery, any treatment would be useless."

"Well, it will be my honor to continue to serve you, Father. Whatever you wish, I will make it so."

"Thank you, Pancho."

Breaking the news to His Holiness was a little more difficult, as he couldn't seem to accept my acceptance of the matter.

"God works in mysterious ways, John. How can you know that your decision not to fight for life is the right one?"

"Of course I can't know that for certain, Your Holiness, but…the thought of surgery, of removing an entire lung…I simply can't cope with that."

"Trials in life are not meant to be easy. God has planned this path for you, John. And whether you forgo surgery and die in a year, or whether you have surgery and live for several more…it will not change the fact that you will be with God in the end. The choice, however, remains with you and whether you think your work on Earth is finished."

His words stuck with me like a bird with a fish stuck in its craw. How could I, or anyone, ever be sure that our work here was done? God's work would never be done so long as there was hate and violence and war and suffering, but would it make a difference whether I had one year or ten years left to work? I didn't know…

As 1973 came rolling in, I wonder if this would be the last New Year I would ever see. I wondered if I would suffer as my friend Good Pope John had, or if my death would be quick. The doctors had said the mass was close to my heart…what did that mean exactly? What happened if it spread to other organs? What happened if I did have emphysema? I wasn't afraid to die…but the thought of suffering a long, painful death terrified me. I almost didn't know what I feared more—a painful death or the surgery that could prolong my life.

On my 62nd birthday, I was called to His Holiness' office and was told to bring Pancho with me. I had the suspicion that Pancho knew what this was about, but if he did, he wasn't telling me.

"Ah, John, come in," His Holiness beamed with open arms, embracing me warmly before I had the chance to greet him in typical respectful fashion. "First, I would like to wish you a very happy birthday."

"Thank you, Your Holiness."

"Secondly," he said, holding up a finger to stay any comments. "There is a favor I would ask of you."

"Anything, Your Holiness."

"The Knights of Columbus in New Orleans are having a convention at the beginning of next month, and have issued an invitation for a representative of the Vatican to attend. I would go, of course, but I have called for a continuation of Second Vatican Council that was started by Good John and I simply cannot leave Rome at this time. I would like for you to attend in my place."

"I would be honored to."

"While you're there," he continued as he passed me an envelope with his wax seal. "I want you to at least visit with the doctors at the Gates of Heaven Hospital for a second opinion on your condition. It has come highly recommended to me. You will want to give them that envelop, as it contains your medical records and the x-rays recently taken."

I knew I couldn't say no, "Of course, Your Holiness. As you wish."

"The choice is still yours, John," he said gently. "But perhaps God may provide you with an alternative."

I simply nodded, but as Pancho and I left his office, I looked at my assistant angrily, "Why do I have a feeling you had a hand in this, Pancho?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Your Eminence." Pancho replied with a less-than-innocent tone.

I was instructed to pack for a two week stay, and at the beginning of April, Pancho and I boarded a private jet to New Orleans. It was the first time I'd been back on American soil in almost 20 years, and I could almost feel how close I was to Hawkeye. I was sorely tempted to call him up whilst I was here, if nothing else to at least break the news of my illness to him. Maybe, like Danny, I could make amends when him before it was too late.

We were met at the airport by Monsignor John Joseph Clancy, the chancellor of the New Orleans diocese. He shook my hand eagerly. "Welcome to New Orleans, Archbishop. How was your flight?"

"Long," I admitted tiredly. "Thank you for meeting us, Monsignor."

"Please, call me Jack."

"Of course, Jack. This is my assistant, Monsignor Pancho de Malaga y de Villa. You can call him Pancho."

"Pleased to meet you, Pancho." Jack said, shaking hands with the Spaniard. "If you'll come with me, Archbishop, I will take you to the hotel. The Knights of Columbus have scheduled a reception for you at 5:15, followed by dinner, so you should have a little time to refresh yourself."

We made it to the Old Royal Maison hotel around 3pm, which left me very little time to catch my breath, but Pancho and I were able to get checked in and taken to our room on the 8th floor without too much hassle. Pancho seemed to be rather anxious and continuously checked his wrist watch as I laid in bed until it was time to get ready for the reception.

"Pancho…quit pacing."

"I'm sorry, Father." He set about pulling out my formal robes and laying them out for me, and I finally started getting dressed around 4:15, as we were supposed to meet the Archbishop of New Orleans in the lobby before the reception.

I still had the unfortunate problem of being nervous in front of crowds, so I convinced Pancho to sit with me in the hotel bar while we waited for the archbishop to arrive. I ended up trying a Sazerac cocktail, which was the New Orleans version of old-fashioned cognac, made with whiskey, cognac, absinthe and Peychaud's Bitters, but I was assured by the bartender that it was the best cocktail I would ever have.

I followed up my first one with two more by the time the Archbishop of New Orleans arrived with his entourage of bishops and monsignors. Introductions were made and the Archbishop suggested we move to the Jean Lafitte Pirate's Cove Room where the reception was to be held.

As we moved through the lobby and took our places before the doors, ready to be received by the gentlemen and ladies who had gathered to honor my arrival, a voice echoed through the lobby, and the words made me pale, my eyes growing wide as my jaw fell slack.

"Hotlips Houlihan, report to the Swamp!" It called. "Hotlips Houlihan, report to the Swamp."

I turned and looked at Pancho, who was looking at me stoically. "Pancho, I want you to investigate that page. Find out who is responsible for it."

"Immediately, Your Eminence." Pancho said, bowing slightly before he ran off, though again I had the feeling that he knew who was responsible for it.

My heart was hammering against my chest. I didn't believe it could be mere coincidence that those particular words would have been spoken here at this time. It was deliberate…but why? When Pancho came back, he leaned in close to my ear.

"Someone paid the bellboy to say it, Your Eminence. Someone in Room 517."

I nodded, swallowing the anxious lump that had suddenly formed in my throat. I would have to investigate that later… Right now, I had an entire room full of people to greet.

As the last Knight of Columbus and his lady had passed through the reception line, however, I turned to the Archbishop of New Orleans.

"Your Eminence," I said with some urgency. "I must beg you to excuse me for a few minutes. A matter of the most pressing personal importance has arisen. Please entertain these fine people for five or ten minutes, after which I will return…God willing,"

The Archbishop nodded, but sent Jack along with Pancho and myself as we made for the elevator and were taken to the fifth floor. I was trembling slightly, anxious and nervous to find out who the hell was here and who had made that page, though the possibilities seemed limited to 3 prank-worthy clowns.

"Suite 517, Your Eminence," Pancho reminded me as we stepped off the elevator.

"Wait here, Pancho." I told him. "You too, Jack."

It seemed to take me a lifetime to walk down the hallway before I reached the door of 517. I swallowed hard, and raised my hand, hesitating only a moment before I knocked.

The door swung open and there stood the tall, half-naked visage of Trapper John McIntyre.

"I'll be goddamned!" He shouted, just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. "You ugly mackerel snapping sonofagun you!"

Trapper lunged forward, throwing his arms around me and embracing me tightly. I hugged him back just as fiercely, unable to speak both around the lump of emotion and the fact that he was crushing me against him, but his next words made me weak.

"Hawkeye, get off the crapper! The cat just drug in Dago Red in the goddamn flesh!" Trapper bodily picked me up and carried me in through the door, setting me on my feet again just as Hawkeye Pierce emerged from the bathroom in his boxer shorts, his handsome face half covered in shaving cream, and his eyes wide with disbelief. We stared at each other for a long moment and I couldn't help but wonder if this was all just a dream. I felt Trapper move around me and heard him start to shake a martini mixer. I licked my lips and found my voice.

"Hello Hawkeye." I said softly, feeling somewhat shy and uncertain in his presence after almost 20 years apart.

Hawkeye's reply was so soft—his throat constricted with emotion—that I almost didn't hear it. "I told you that if you kept your eyes open and your mouth shut, you'd get a promotion."

I smiled as my eyes began to water and Hawkeye took several large steps, his arms encasing me even tighter than Trapper's had, smudging me with shaving cream as he held me the way I'd been dreaming of for so long.

"Oh, God I've missed you, Dago." He whispered fiercely.

"I've missed you too, Hawk…"

I heard him sniff as he pulled away, looking at me with red-rimmed, watery eyes before he moved into the bathroom, where I heard him blow his nose. I pulled a handkerchief that I had tucked in my sash and wiped my own eyes before I blew my nose.

He laughed softly. "I always wondered where you kept that. Where do you keep your cigarettes, in your socks?"

I couldn't help but smile even as I shook my head. "I don't smoke anymore, Hawkeye."

"Here you go, Red," Trapper said as he pressed a martini glass in my hand, handing another one to Hawkeye. "Here's to Auld Lang Syne!"

The three of us sipped our gin before a knock came at the door and Trapper went to answer it.

"I gave at the office, fellas. And besides, Father Mulcahy is working this floor."

I'd nearly forgotten about Pancho and Jack and the reception downstairs. "They're with me, Trapper…let them in."

"Is everything all right, Your Eminence?" Pancho asked, obviously uncomfortable in the presence of two half-dressed men.

"Perfectly all right," I replied, casting a look at Hawkeye who was looking at me still in disbelief. I turned to Jack, "Would you be good enough to tell His Eminence that God is His mysterious ways has brought me together again, after many years, with two of my dearest friends?"

"May I remind Your Eminence," Jack replied. "That two hundred people are waiting to pay their respects in the Pirate's Cove Room?"

"I'd quite forgotten," I sighed, knowing my long overdue reunion would have to wait. "You're right, of course."

"May I further suggest," Jack added, "speaking both as diocesan chancellor and as spiritual advisor to the New Orleans Consistory of the Knights of Columbus, that we would be honored to have your friends accompany you?"

I thought about this for a long moment, closing my eyes as I bowed my head a little. I wondered how much Trapper and Hawkeye had changed since I'd last seen them together. They were rotten influences on each other, and if their prank in the lobby—if it even was their prank—was any indication, I wasn't sure they'd be able to act civilized enough for the reception. I peeked open one eye and looked at them. "Can you guys behave? Just for a couple of hours?"

Hawkeye was looking at me with an unreadable, but serious expression. "On one condition."

"Which is?"

"That we get it in writing." He said. "If I went home and told Wrong Way Napolitano, who is the head witch doctor of the Spruce Harbor Council K of C that I got asked to a meeting of the Knights of Columbus by their spiritual advisor, he would never believe it."

I saw Jack's eyebrow rise as he considered he might have made a mistake in issuing the invitation. I couldn't help but laugh.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," I said. "I haven't introduced you to each other. Dr. Pierce and Dr. McIntyre, may I present Monsignor Pancho de Malaga y de Villa and Monsignor John Joseph Clancy."

I watched the four of them exchange handshakes as Trapper grinned. "Wait till Wrong Way hears about this! Two monsignors at once!"

"Wait a minute," Hawkeye said with a curious expression as he turned his gaze back to me. "If these guys are monsignors, Dago, what are you?"

Pancho spoke in a grand voice before I could open my mouth, "It is my great honor to serve as private secretary to His Eminence, who is Archbishop of Swengchan, China."

I watched their mouths fall open as they exchanged shocked looks before they fell to their knees and bowed at my feet in a display that could only be classified as classic Hawkeye and Trapper. Jack and Pancho gawked at the two, obviously never knowing anyone who could be so blatantly disrespectful, yet still be considered a close friend to someone like me. I sighed, not having the time or inclination to deal with their shenanigans tonight and I tipped my glass so that the contents of my drink ran down their necks.

"When I said behave," I said sternly. "I meant behave. And next time you call me Dago Red in public, I'll make you eat the glass. Understood?"

They rose into a kneeling position with their hands in prayer position over their hearts, looking up at me angelically. I could see the slight grin on Hawkeye's face as he found all of this to be completely amusing. Together they spoke, "Understood, Your Eminence."

I shook my head and rolled my eyes, turning to my assistant. "Pancho, I'm going back to the reception with Monsignor Clancy. You stay here with these two. Make sure they get nothing else to drink, and that when they get dressed, they look like respectable members of the medical profession. Then you bring them down to the reception."

Pancho looked uncertain of the task as he eyed Trapper and Hawkeye, "Very well, Your Eminence."

I looked back to Hawkeye and Trapper as they got to their feet. I wanted to stay with them a while longer, I wanted to talk to Hawkeye, to find out if he was still angry with me, but I had a duty to perform and it would have to wait. "I mean it, boys. Your _best_ behavior."

With that, I followed Jack back down to the reception.

TBC

Note: I tried to be as accurate as possible as far as the timeline's of the Popes' reign in office and what they accomplished. Also, the United Mission to Nepal is a real organization that was establish in 1954 and is still active today.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye's POV.
> 
> Much of this chapter coincides with the plot of M*A*S*H Goes to New Orleans, written by Richard Hooker and William E. Butterworth (1975). Many of the character quotes are directly quoted (with one or two minor changes). No copyright infringement intended. Read the book if you haven't. I highly recommend it.

I watched Dago leave the room in complete and utter disbelief, trying to wrap my mind around what had just happened. The last person I had ever expected to see again had just been standing in my hotel room, had just been in my arms, and had just invited me to a party. What the hell was he doing here in New Orleans anyways…and when had he become an archbishop?

"I'm getting a little old for that," I commented, trying to take my mind off how shaken I felt from seeing him again so unexpectedly.

"Perhaps you are just out of practice," Dago's secretary suggested. "Maybe you should do it more often."

I glanced at him, curious as to how much he knew about mine and Dago's history. "Judge not, lest ye be judged, Monsignor." I grabbed the martini shaker, "Would you like a little snort?"

"His Eminence expects us downstairs."

"Finest kind," I enticed him with a grin as I shook the shaker at him. "Made with real gin and very little vermouth."

He looked towards the door to the suite, "Well, perhaps under the circumstances."

I poured him a glass as Trapper asked the question we were both wondering, "What, precisely, are the circumstances? What's Mulcahy doing in New Orleans?"

"We just came from Rome," the little man replied. "For personal reasons and on church business. I'm not allowed, of course, to discuss either."

"How long have you been working for him?" I asked, curiously.

"Long enough for him to have told me enough about you two." He looked at me for a long minute with a knowing expression, and I knew that Dago had told him about us. I wasn't sure how I felt about that, and I wondered if I was looking at Dago's new lover. I couldn't imagine Dago telling the man about his past unless they were close, intimately close. He'd always been such a guarded man; it had taken so much coaxing and trust for Dago to tell me about Danny. What exactly did he entrust to his assistant? Pancho cut off my reverie, however, with a very clipped, "I'll tell you right now that this is my first and last Martini."

I couldn't help but grin. "What's this wingding downstairs?"

"The New Orleans Consistory, Knights of Columbus, is holding a reception to honor the archbishop," he said. "Might I ask how long you plan to be in New Orleans?"

"Not ten seconds longer than I have to be," I answered. "We're here to attend the national convention of the American Tonsil, Adenoid and Vas Deferens Society."

"How fortunate that the conference should be at the same time that His Eminence was scheduled to be here." Pancho said.

I got the distinct impression that it wasn't merely luck that had landed us both here in New Orleans, but I knew the little Spaniard wasn't going to divulge more than he had to. "If you'll excuse us, Pancho Villa, we'll just go get dressed."

I grabbed Trapper by the arm and led him into the bathroom, picking up my razor to finish shaving. "Something weird is going on here, Trap. I don't buy that this is all just coincidence."

"What then?" Trapper asked.

"I don't know, but doesn't it seem odd to you that Dago would turn up here of all places the same weekend we're here to attend that damn TA&VD conference? I haven't seen him in 20 fucking years, Trapper…doesn't that seem at all strange? And how did he know we were here? How did he know what room we were staying in?"

"So you think this is all just some conspiracy set up by Dago Red and the Catholic Church, then?"

"No…not Dago. He seemed just as surprised to see us as we did him, but that Pancho fella…I reckon there's more that he's not telling us."

"Stick to medicine, Dr. Holmes." Trapper said as he pulled on a pair of black trousers and a white button up shirt. "This is the last time I let my wife pack for me. There's not one scrap of wearable clothing in here."

I finished shaving and dug out the penguin suit my own wife had packed for me, dressing carefully as I pondered again on what Dago was doing here. Pancho had said 'personal reasons' before church business. What personal reason could bring Dago all the way here? I needed to get to the bottom of this, but for now I'd promised I would behave.

Trapper and I, once having passed Pancho's inspection, followed the monsignor to the elevator and down to the lobby. Dago was waiting for us with several other members of the clergy. He smiled upon seeing me—that same sweet, shy smile I remembered so well—and gave us a small wave as we approached. "I'm impressed, boys, that you actually packed decent suits."

"Blame our wives," Trapper said, eyeing the men standing with Dago.

He made a quick introduction between all of us before Monsignor Clancy came up to Dago. "Your Eminence, we really must be returning to the reception now."

"Alright, Jack, everyone's here now." Dago replied, patting the antsy man on the shoulder, and we all followed him into the reception room. Dago introduced us to the Archbishop of New Orleans and several leaders of the K of C. After introductions were made, Dago looked around the room and smiled. "Well, everybody seems to be having a good time."

"Especially that guy in the Polish admiral's uniform," Trapper said with mirth as he nodded to a tall man standing near an ice sculpture of a leprechaun. The Admiral seemed to be fighting to get away from another man who was holding him by the arm.

"Why's he fighting with the priest?" I asked, curiously amused by the spectacle.

"It would appear that Father dePresses is attempting to dissuade Mr. de la Chevaux from paying his respects to His Eminence in person." Monsignor Clancy conveyed his observation.

 _De la Chevaux?_ I thought. Why did that name sound familiar?

"It looks like he failed," Trapper also observed as the Admiral gave a mighty shrug to free himself from the priest, which sent the priest flying backwards into the buffet table, knocking the leprechaun ice sculpture off its pedestal. I heard several of the men around me wheeze anxiously as the sculpture plunged head first into a bowl of punch, shattering the bowl and sending a cascade of punch onto the parquet dance floor, drenching the priest.

The Admiral limped in our direction, spreading his arms out as he called out in a heavy Cajun accent, "Father Mulcahy! Father Mulcahy! Goddamn I thought I never see you again!"

Dago seemed to know the man at once. "Why it's Horsey Chevaux!" He said with a delighted laugh, practically running toward the Admiral. Horsey Chevaux lifted Dago up off his feet as they came together in a friendly embrace, and held him up in the air by his arm pits.

"Hot damn!" Horsey bellowed again. "What the hell you think about this?"

Trapper and I laughed at the sight of Dago being held up by Horsey. I remembered him immediately as Dago said the man's nickname, remembering how I'd broken protocol in Korea to save his badly injured leg, but I could tell Trapper was clueless on who the hell he was. Before I could explain, however, one of the K of C's drew his sword, shouting in French.

" _Allons mes enfants_! Kill the Irish bastards!" He charged toward Horsey and Dago, which in turn had several other French-Cajun dignitaries drawing their swords and shouting a battle cry together, also getting ready to charge. There was a moment of tension as we all tried to react to the charging man, but it was the priest who had been knocked back into the buffet table who had responded first. Regaining his wits, Father dePresses took a flying leap towards the charging Cajun, tackling him to the floor where they slid to a halt at the feet of the Archbishop of New Orleans. At the same time, several of the clergymen in charge quickly circled the crowd to make sure all swords were sheathed and to assure everyone that there would be no bloodshed. I stood, completely baffled as to what the hell had just happened, but when I finally looked back over at Dago, I saw him leading Horsey over to where we stood, completely undisturbed by the whole scene.

"What the hell just happened?" I asked, looking from Dago to Horsey.

"I think they thought Horsey was going to sacrifice me," Dago said with a small laugh. "I may be the Archbishop of Swengchan, but I'm still an Irishman…which most of these men can't forgive."

Horsey grinned at me and Trapper. "Remember me?"

"Horsey." I laughed, pleased to see him again now that the things had returned to normal.

"You remember me, huh, Hawkeye?"

"You becha," I winked, embracing the other man like a long lost brother.

Trapper still looked baffled and I saw Dago lean in and whisper into his ear before recognition dawned in Trapper's eyes. "Horsey! Horsey, I'm sorry. Of course I remember you!"

"Wit' me," Horsey grinned. "You never gotta say you're sorry."

"Your Eminence," the Archbishop of New Orleans said to Dago, thoroughly confused and upset by the sequence of events. "Perhaps you would be good enough to explain all of this to me."

Dago smiled, "Under the circumstances, that would seem to be a very wise thing to do indeed. But, I wonder if there is someplace we might go and sit down? I seem to get tired very easily lately."

My ears pricked up at Dago's words and I looked at him inquiringly, but he was still looking at the Archbishop who said softly, "So I understand, Your Eminence."

Dago's face registered surprise and he dropped his voice to a low murmur that I barely heard, "How could you know about that?"

"Let's say that I heard from someone in Rome we both deeply admire." The Archbishop said, just as softly. "Why don't we go into the back room?"

Dago turned to face me and Trapper, looking at us with a firm expression. "You behave until I get back. And lay off the booze, all of you."

I watched him leave with a growing sense of dread before I turned to Pancho. "Alright, tell me what's wrong with him. And remember, your kind can't lie. I know Dago better than anyone. He doesn't just 'tire easily.'"

Pancho and Trapper exchanged a look and I looked at Trapper, mildly outraged. " _You_ know what's wrong with him?"

"I am not at liberty to discuss the situation," Pancho said before Trapper could answer, stonewalling like a politician.

"Bullshit." I called, stabbing my finger in his chest and looking back at Trapper. "Tell me."

"Look, Hawk, even Red doesn't know that I know—"

"Stop the cryptic bullshit and tell me what the fuck is wrong with him!" I bellowed, on the verge of making a scene myself until they yielded to me.

They looked at each other again and Trapper finally sighed, "Alright, come here…but you didn't hear this from me…"

Trapper and Pancho led the way to an empty table away from the hubbub of the party and I leaned in close, listening as Trapper explained.

"Sometime in February I got a call from him," Trapper said, indicating to Pancho. "He said that Dago Red needed to have a surgical procedure that would save his life, but Red was refusing to do it, saying that this was just God's will."

"What is God's will? What procedure? What's wrong with him?" I said, getting annoyed by the lack of answers to my questions.

Trapper sighed as he looked at me. "Dago has a large carcinoma in his left lung."

I nearly fell out of my chair. "Lung cancer? Christ…How bad is it?"

"We have the x-rays from the doctor in Rome upstairs in our suite," Pancho said nervously.

"I want to see them."

Pancho nodded and the four of us headed up to the 8th floor, where he let us into their shared, two-bedroom suite. He handed me a large envelope with a wax seal and I broke it open, spilling the contents of Dago's medical history into my hand. I set aside his medical records and held up the first x-ray to the light.

"It looks operable," I murmured. "What do you think, Trap?"

"Could be if it hasn't gotten any closer to his heart since these were taken."

"I should have never got him smoking in the first place." I commented with a sigh.

"Guess even priests aren't immune to peer pressure." Trapper remarked.

"What happens if he don't have the surgery?" Horsey asked.

"He'll croak." I said, not believing that to be an option. "Why won't he do it, Pancho?"

"His Eminence is very…hardheaded. He still affirms that this is God's will, though myself and His Holiness, the Pope, have tried to convince him otherwise. That is why I called Dr. McIntyre to arrange this meeting. In hopes that you might help talk him into it."

"Why didn't you call me? Why didn't you let me in on what was going on?" I asked, more to Trapper than to Pancho.

"I was sworn to secrecy. Other than working with your wife—"

"Wait… _Mary_ knows about this?"

Trapper shrugged.

"Oh for Christ sake…" I raked a hand through my hair in annoyance. "I don't believe this…you mean the only two bozos you didn't tell about this were me and Dago?"

"And Horsey Chevaux!" Horsey added in.

Pancho simply nodded. "I could not be sure how you would receive him or the news. His Eminence has not spoken to you for many years, Dr. Pierce."

"Trust me, I know." I said gruffly. "But this is a matter of life and death…surely he wouldn't think that I would let him just die."

"I have been very careful to arrange this meeting just so." Pancho revealed. "I know that His Eminence values your opinion above all others, but he would not take the initiative to contact you after so much time. I have spent several months making contacts and setting up everything, and I needed Dr. McIntyre and your wife to help me get you here."

"Why here? Why New Orleans."

Pancho didn't answer, instead he simply said, "Please, we must return to the reception before he returns. When he finds out that I have shown you these, he will be furious."

"You let me deal with Dago," I said as we returned to the contents to the envelope and left the suite.

I went against Dago's wishes and helped myself to several drinks in his absence, trying to reconcile everything I was feeling at that moment.

Pancho's mention of the fact that Dago and I hadn't spoken in so long, brought up all the ugly memories of what happened immediately after Dago had left. I remembered the pain and anguish I had felt when I'd returned to that shithole apartment to find everything of Dago's gone except for the envelope he'd left on my pillow. Knowing that I had broken his heart and would never get the chance to tell him how very sorry I was overwhelmed with me a sickening feeling of remorse. The loss of his love and friendship was even more devastating to me than the loss of my mother, but this time I couldn't blame God…this time it was all my fault.

I hated myself for so long after that, simply moving from day to day with stoic acrimony, and always holding out hope that Dago would write, or call, or come back to me…but he never did. For twenty years, I felt like part of me was missing, and I knew it was my soul mate.

Seeing Dago tonight for the first time is so many years was like breathing for the first time. I was so overcome with joy that it took every ounce of my will not to break down completely in front of the others. I felt whole again in his arms, and it gave me hope that even after all this time…we still had a chance. But the news of his illness brought on a whole new wave of grief and guilt. It also brought on the realization that we were both older now. Dago was in his sixties. We had lost so much time because of my stupid remark…and now, if he didn't agree to surgery, he would die and I would lose him all over again.

By the time Dago made it back to the reception, I was well and truly plastered.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I demanded, staggering drunkenly towards him.

He looked angry that I'd disobeyed him and grabbed me by the arm with surprising strength as I nearly fell over. "I'm gone for one hour and you manage to get yourself completely inebriated. Why am I not surprised, Hawkeye? Where's Pancho? He was supposed to keep an eye on you."

"Why didn't you tell me, Dago?" I demanded again furious with him, with me, with God, with everything and everyone. "Why didn't you tell me you have cancer?"

His eyes flashed back up to mine and this time he looked infuriated that I knew about his illness. Pancho came sidling up to us at that point, apologizing profusely. "Forgive me, Your Eminence. I could not stop them."

"You apparently couldn't hold your tongue, either," Dago bit back sharply. "Is there _anyone_ you haven't told about my condition?"

"I'm not _anyone_ ," I cut in before Pancho could answer. "I'm your goddamn soul mate, Dago."

He blushed furiously, his eyes darting about as he hissed, "Keep your voice down, Hawkeye! Pancho, keep an eye on those two. Don't let them have anything else to drink. I'm taking him upstairs."

Dago dragged me out of the reception room with a firm grip on my bicep, muttering to himself incoherently. Anytime I tried to speak on the way up to his suite, I was met with a very gruff, "Shut up, Hawkeye."

When we reached the suite, Dago finally let go of my arm, pushing me roughly inside as he slammed the door behind us. I could tell he was seething, still angry that Pancho had betrayed his confidence, and probably still fairly pissed at me for being drunk and calling him my soul mate right in front of his contemporaries, but I didn't care. I'd waited 20 fucking years for this moment. I pushed Dago up against the door, knocking the ridiculous pointed hat off his head as I claimed his lips with mine.

Dago resisted me for only a moment, before his arms went around me, crushing my body against his as he fiercely kissed me back. I could feel the wetness on his cheeks and realized that he was crying, but as his thumb came up to stroke my cheek, I knew that I was as well.

I pulled away as I began to sob, sinking to my knees at his feet and grabbing the hem of his robes as I was overcome with sadness and sorrow and guilt. "I'm sorry, Dago. I'm so sorry. It's my fault…it's all my fault…I never meant what I said, baby…"

Dago slid down to the floor and pulled me into his arms, holding me and rocking me gently, his voice soothing despite the slight raspy quality that had developed from age and years of smoking cigarettes. "It's not your fault, Hawkeye. Nothing is your fault."

"You left because of me," I cried.

"I left because I had to." He countered gently. "Our argument was just the catalyst. We both knew our relationship wouldn't survive in the long run…it had to end."

"It didn't," I argued. "We could have made it work. We could have at least written to each other. 20 years… 20 fucking years, Dago…"

"And I've thought about you every single day," he told me. "I couldn't write, Hawkeye…I was so sick over what had happened between us, I didn't know if you hated me or not…I _wanted_ to write, but I was afraid to. I was afraid of what you might say…or that you wouldn't write back at all."

"I could never hate you, baby." I cupped his face in my hands, looking at him closely for the first time in so long and seeing just how much he'd changed. The deep reddish brown hues of his hair had dulled to silvery grey and had thinned considerably at his temples and hairline, and he wore it much shorter now than he had in Korea. Even his eyebrows had grayed. His face was etched with age lines, crow's feet crinkling the corners of his sharp blue eyes. His lips, too, seemed to be slightly thinner now than they had been in the past. Despite the evidence of years showing on his face, Dago was still captivating to me.

"You've gotten old," I joshed with tears in my eyes.

He smiled softly. "You're one to talk. I see quite a bit of blonde turning to gray up there."

I laughed and cried all at the same time, as we drew each other back into a loving embrace. "Ask me again, Dago…"

"Ask you what?"

"The last question you asked me… the one I got wrong before."

I felt him tense slightly in my arms, before he managed to speak around his emotions, "Do you still love me?"

"Yes," I breathed, squeezing him in my arms. "I always have. I was just so stupid…Can you ever forgive me, John?"

"I think I wrote in my letter to you that I had forgiven you, Ben. I didn't want to believe that you might hate me, but I didn't want to stick around to find out. Like I said…our separation was necessary…but I am sorry for not writing to you. Tseten warned me I would live to regret it…and I have."

"You have to do the surgery, Dago." I said emphatically, pulling back to look at him.

He started to shake his head, but I held his face again firmly, forcing him to meet my eyes.

"You'll _die_ , Dago! Why won't you even consider it?"

He closed his eyes, sniffling quietly and he said, very softly, "I'm scared to death, Hawkeye."

"Of the surgery?"

"All of it…I'm scared of what this disease is doing to my body, I'm scared that it's too late to be saved, I'm scared of the surgery and living with only one lung, I'm scared of dying a painful death… I'm not scared to die, but the process terrifies me."

"Baby, if you don't do this, then it's almost guaranteed that you _will_ die a horrible death. Do you know anyone who's died of cancer?"

"The last Pope," he said softly. "He had stomach cancer."

"Not the same as what you have, but close enough." I told him. "You said downstairs that you tire easily…that's just the beginning, Dago. You'll start coughing up blood and your lungs will start filling with fluid because the blood-gas levels can't normalize, which will cause emphysema. If the cancer doesn't metastasize and spread to your other organs—namely your heart—and kill you first, then the emphysema will kill you, which is basically like drowning to death in your own fluids."

Dago looked truly horrified, and I knew that at this point I was trying to scare him into the surgery with the graphic detail, but if it worked…so be it. "I'm scheduled to meet with a doctor tomorrow at the Heaven's Gate Hospital here in New Orleans…"

"Let me come with you… please. If nothing else, just for the consultation."

He nodded softly and I pulled him back into another kiss.

"Do you still love me, Dago?" I asked, resting my forehead against his.

"I never stopped, Hawkeye."

"Then make love to me," I murmured, brushing my hand through his soft, thin hair.

"The people at the reception—"

"Can go fuck themselves," I interrupted. "I have 20 years of heartache to make up for."

I pulled Dago to his feet, cupping his face again as I pulled him into another lasting kiss.

"You're sure this is okay for a man in my condition?"

"I'm a doctor, Dago," I smirked. "Trust me."

He gave me a skeptical look, but allowed me to lead him to the bedroom he indicated was his, where I kissed him again as I began to disrobe him. I untied the red sash at his waist, gently tossing it into a chair in the corner before I started to undo the row of buttons down the front of his robe. Dago's hands had reached up to the bowtie at my neck and he carefully pulled the ends apart before he slid his hands up under my suit jacket and eased it off my shoulders and down my arms.

I had to drop down to my knees to get the rest of the buttons I couldn't reach and I sighed in exasperation, "Why are there so many damn buttons on this thing?"

"One button for every year of Jesus' mortal life." He answered.

I decided not to say aloud that I was glad Jesus didn't live to be older than 33 as I finally released the last button. Dago shrugged out of the garment and reached up to release the roman collar around his neck and stepped out of his shoes before he began to unfasten the buttons of my shirt as I got to my feet again. It seemed to take a lifetime to get undressed, but when the last item of clothing was finally stripped away, we both breathed a near sigh of relief and clung to each other as we lay together in the bed.

"I want to go back in time," I whispered as I kissed along his jaw. "I want to erase that day from history so that it never happened, we never parted…We would have found a way, Dago…"

He sighed softly, "As much as I wish the same thing, we can't change what happened. All we can do is move forward. But…I'm terribly sorry that I left you."

"No, it's my fault, Dago…what I said, and the way I walked away from you," I looked into his eyes, feeling every bit as sorrowful now as I did then as I let the words trail off.

Dago leaned up, pressing his lips to mine. "If I'm going to die…then I want to make the most of the time I have left, Hawkeye."

My eyes watered at his words, "I'm not going to let you die, Dago. Not yet. Not when I just found you again."

His fingers tangled in my hair and he looked at me with a fiery expression. "Take me, Hawkeye."

Our love making was gentle, but only because it had been so long and because I didn't want to exhaust him completely. He was breathing hard by the time we were nearing the end, and I could see the flashes of pain cross his face, knowing that the tumor was constricting his airway and making it painful to take deep breaths. I wanted to stop, but he told me no, pushing himself harder onto my cock before I relented and continued fucking him until he spent himself in his hand as I spent myself inside of him.

"Fuck…" I swore, trembling from head to toe as I sank down onto the bed next to him. "Goddamn it, Dago…you still feel fucking incredible."

He laughed softly, "Seeing as how I'm now an archbishop, do you think you could lay off on using God's name in vain?"

I laughed, "Archbishop Mulcahy…what a fucking trip. How'd that happen anyways?"

He told me the story of Nepal and the mission trip, and how he'd gained the attention and respect of many at the Vatican, including the Pope. He told me about the offer Good Pope John had made him and how he'd moved to Rome that very day, where'd he'd been ever since.

"Did you ever think you'd be friends with the actual Pope?"

"Not even in my wildest dreams," he said with another laugh. "Tell me about you, Hawkeye…what have the years held in store for you?"

"Well, I finished my residency, of course, which damn near killed me. Or maybe I damn near killed Jimmy Gargan…it's hard to tell who won that fight, but I got through the boards alright and came home to Crabapple Cove. I worked for one of the old timers, Doggy Moore, for a stint, helping him out with a few cases, but ended up at the Spruce Harbor General Hospital for a couple of years before I had the dough to open up my own practice. I managed to recruit Duke, who moved his whole family up from Georgia, then he and I worked on Spearchucker, who eventually caved in and joined us, and finally we gave Trapper no choice. Together we invested in the Finestkind Clinic and Fishmarket in a little place called Harbor Shore."

"God help me, Hawkeye, but if I know you as well as I think I do, that name is actually a literal translation, isn't it?"

I grinned, "You bet it is. One of the boys who ran the lottery to get us bets on the patients wanted a good retail fish market so he figured he'd open one right at the clinic where people could bring in their lobsters, clams, and shrimp to sell. We even offer filleting, though at an off-site facility."

Dago shook his head, but he was smiling. "And how are Mary and the children?"

"The boys are grown up, of course, and married; no kids yet, which is fine with me, but Tommy is serving in Vietnam right now…which scares the piss out of me. He's in the infantry division, but he's proud to serve his country, so I guess that's something. Karen's in college now, but she's going to put me in an early grave. She's studying woman's studies and wants to join the godda…the fucking peace corp. And then there's Johnny, whom you haven't met yet. He just turned 15. We named him after you."

"After me?" Dago asked, completely surprised.

"Who better?" I replied, looking into his eyes and brushing the backs of my fingers across his cheek. "Mary's good, of course; though she's never stopped calling me an idiot since I ran you off. I think she always hoped you'd come back around, too; she considered—considers—you a good friend, Dago. And—I learned earlier this evening—she was in on this little ploy to bring us together."

"What do you mean? What ploy?"

I suddenly remembered Dago wasn't privy to my conversation with Trapper, Horsey and Pancho earlier. "Ah…shit…well, I suppose you have a right to know as much as anyone. Apparently your little assistant set all of this up—I don't know exactly what or how, I didn't get that much detail out of them—but our being here and your being here at the same time wasn't coincidence. Pancho called Trapper, and Trapper called my wife, so the three of them have all been in cahoots."

"I'm not surprised," Dago told me. "I had a feeling there was more than meets the eye. I'm willing to bet that the Pope himself had his hand in this as well. He's the one that requested I come here and asked that I get a 'second opinion.' I found out earlier this evening that it was the Archbishop of New Orleans that recommended the Heaven's Gate Hospital to the Pope."

"Sounds like we've got ourselves a bonafide conspiracy," I smirked.

"Right before the reception began, there was a page made by the bellboy…did you have anything to do with that?"

"What was the page?"

"He said 'Hotlips Houlihan to the Swamp.'"

I laughed heartily, trying to imagine Dago's face when he'd heard the page. "No, but I kind of wish I had. Could have been Trapper, though."

"If not Trapper, then Pancho." He replied. "He's heard enough tales of the two of you."

"Does he know about us—you and me?"

Dago looked at me with a soft blush, "Yes. I never gave him any great detail, other than the fact that we'd been lovers. There've been so many times when I've dreamt about you, when I couldn't stop thinking about you and couldn't stop missing you—even recently—and he would listen to me lament about you."

"Are you and he…"

"Are we what?"

"You know…together?"

Dago laughed loudly, sending himself into a coughing fit that took him a minute to recover from. "No…God no. There hasn't been anyone else since you, Hawkeye. I've been celibate for almost twenty years."

"Christ," I muttered, looking at him. "Not even a quick hand job on yourself?"

Dago chuckled but shook his head. "No. I missed you too much to even think about sex; but, in a way, that was a good thing seeing as how I'm supposed to be chaste."

I covered his hand with mine. "I'm sorry, Dago."

"Stop apologizing, Hawkeye; we're both equally at fault."

"What happens now, Dago? After you have the surgery—and you will have that damn surgery—what happens to us?"

"Oh, God, Hawkeye…I don't have any idea. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that you're really here right now. I keep expecting this to all be just another dream."

"Well, if we are dreaming, let's not wake up."

"Agreed," he said with a soft smile, and we sealed the deal with a kiss.

As much as I wanted to just stay in bed with him, Dago reminded me that he had to get back downstairs to the reception, saying that they would eventually notice that the guest of honor hadn't been there for most of the evening. He took a quick shower before we both got dressed again, then headed back down to the lobby, where the party was still in full swing.

I was mostly sober by that point and decided to respect the fact that Dago had asked me—several times that evening—not to drink, and simply settled on soda for the rest of the night. He placed a hand on my shoulder as I started off towards where Horsey, Trapper and Pancho were talking and I looked at him curiously.

"I have to go mingle," he said. "I'll come find you in a while."

I nodded, "If you don't, I'm holding Pancho Villa hostage."

He gave me a look of reprimand, though I could see the smile he was trying to contain. "Don't harass him, Hawkeye."

I laughed and Dago smiled sweetly as he headed off to where the Archbishop of New Orleans was seated, conversing with several of the delegates. I turned my chair around and sat next to Trapper.

"You know," Trapper said. "This is really starting to all look like God's idea after all."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, not ruling out that Trapper had either had too much to drink, lost his mind, or had somehow gone from being an existentialist to a Christian in the span of an hour.

"Pancho said Dago's meeting with a doc up at some hospital tomorrow."

"Yeah?" I was failing to see how God had a hand in that more than the Archbishop recommending it to the Pope as Dago had told me earlier.

"It was Horsey's money that founded that hospital."

"No shit?" I asked looking at Horsey.

"I figure I gotta do some good wit' it," Horsey shrugged. "An' it seem like a good idea to give it to a hospital. After all, you doctors is what saved my leg and got me home from Korea."

"I think I've nearly convinced Dago to have the surgery," I told them, sipping my Coca-Cola and looking at Pancho. "He's not so much hardheaded as he is scared shitless."

"How'd you talk him into it?" Trapper asked. "Show him a week old corpse?"

I chuckled, "Close…told him what would happen to him if he didn't do it. I guess that option didn't appeal to him much."

"Well, let us pray that the surgery will be the answer we are all hoping for." Pancho said.

"You pray, Padre," Trapper said, picking up his beer bottle. "We'll drink."

It was another hour or two before Dago wandered over to our table and sat down between me and Pancho, looking sore and exhausted.

"You alright?" I asked softly.

"Just tired," he said, giving me a weary smile.

"Would you care for something to eat, Your Eminence?" Pancho asked.

"Yes…I think I would. I don't remember the last time I ate, to be honest."

Pancho got up and went over to the buffet to fetch Dago something to eat, coming back with an assortment of foods and a glass of water. Dago thanked him softly, then bowed his head, saying a quick prayer. I reached for one of the dinner rolls on Dago's plate and promptly got the back of my hand smacked.

"I thought the Bible taught you people to share," I said, not letting go of the roll.

"Give a man a roll, he'll eat for a day," Dago smirked. "Teach a man to get his own damn rolls, he'll eat until the food is gone."

Horsey, Trapper, Pancho and I all laughed.

As Dago ate, Trapper and Horsey gathered several members of the K of C and had them lined up on the dance floor doing The Madison and the Hully Gully. Dago, Pancho and I had sat and watched them, laughing hysterically for a long while before Dago put his hand on my arm.

"I think I should call it a night," he said. "I'm completely wiped out."

"Want me to walk you home?" I asked, placing my hand on his knee discreetly.

He nodded softly, then looked at Pancho. "You can stay, Pancho. I'm sure there will be far more festivities once I've retired. Enjoy yourself. Please."

"Are you sure, Your Eminence?"

"Quite sure. Hawkeye will see me back to the room, and he will be accompanying us to the hospital in the morning."

"Of course, Your Eminence." Pancho bowed his head slightly.

"Goodnight, Pancho." Dago said, patting his assistant on the shoulder before he and I headed for the door. He bade goodnight to several people on the way out, and carried himself gracefully to the elevator. Once the doors were shut, however, he leaned heavily against the elevator wall.

"Eighth floor," I told the attendant, when Dago didn't seem able to speak.

I watched Dago as we ascended to the 8th floor. His eyes were closed and his mouth was slightly open. I started to wonder how old the x-rays were…and feared it might be too late for surgery.

"Hawkeye…" he said softly, breaking me from my thoughts. "If I do have the surgery, it has to be you who cuts me open. You're the only one I trust to do it."

"That could be a problem, Dago," I told him. "I'm not licensed in this state. You'd have to come back to Maine with me, and we really can't waste any more time."

He looked at me earnestly. "Find a way."

I knew there was no use arguing, as he wasn't going to listen and he didn't have the strength to argue anyways, but I wasn't sure how I was going to pull off doing the surgery here without a license and I didn't really care to get sued for malpractice…not that I thought Dago would, but the Vatican might if I goofed up or if Dago died under my care.

I led him back to his hotel room and helped him get undressed and into his pajamas before he washed his face and brushed his teeth. He climbed into bed and sighed deeply as I pulled the covers up around him. I knew he'd probably fall asleep fairly quickly, but I sat next to him in the bed, propping myself up on my elbow as I held his hand.

"What's the difference in having one lung versus two?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Depends on the person," I told him. "But most of the people I've done a pneumonectomy on have said they really don't feel that different. It's always a little difficult right after surgery when the other lung is learning to compensate, so you might feel like you get winded easily, especially if you climb stairs, but there's something called a spirometer that they'll probably give you afterwards that you blow in and it helps exercise your lung and improve your breathing. It'll be uncomfortable for a little while, but so long as you use the spirometer, you'll be fine in no time."

"You sound so calm about this, Hawkeye…I wish I felt the same way."

"I just know that it'll save your life, baby." I told him. "But I'm not as calm as you think I am. I'm anxious for you to get under the knife before it's too late."

He squeezed my hand. "Thank God Pancho thought to wrangle Trapper into this mess…and, vicariously, you."

"I just wish you had called me and told me what was going on." I told him. "This all seems like an elaborate waste of resources."

"I agree. And I should have. I thought about it, you know. Calling you; but what exactly was I going to say? 'Hi, Hawkeye. Remember me? I know it's been almost 20 years, but I thought you'd like to know I have lung cancer.'"

I couldn't help but laugh. "Well, see, all the more reason you shouldn't have waited this long to get in touch with me."

"Well, I may not have contacted you, but I wrote you nearly every day. I kept a journal with an open letter to you…of course, now it's almost like a series of books."

"You did? Are they here?"

He laughed softly but shook his head. "No, I never expected to run into you while I was here. They're in Rome. Can you still read Runes?"

"I have no idea. I haven't had to read anything written in Runes since the letters you sent me from Korea."

"If you want to read them, I'll make you another key and send them to you."

"Are you crazy? Of course I want to read them, but let's skip the middle man and you just bring them to Crabapple Cove…or I'll come visit you in Rome and read them there."

He smiled up at me, but didn't say anything. Then he sighed again and closed his eyes. I leaned down and kissed his lips. "Go to sleep, baby. You need to rest. Do you want me to stay with you?"

"No, I'm sure the party will still be going on downstairs…you've behaved long enough for one night. Go have some fun."

"You're sure?"

"Yes," he said emphatically. "Get out of my hair, already."

I laughed and kissed him again. "Then I'll see you in the morning."

I slipped out of the bed, turning off the lamp on the nightstand.

"Hawk…?" he said softly. I turned to look at him, though I could only see his silhouette in the darkness. "I love you."

"I love you, too, baby."

I went back down to the party where, indeed, it was still in full swing. Pancho had taken Dago's advice and was learning how to do several of America's favorite dances. I joined them on the dance floor as they began the mashed potato.

At 1am, the owner of hotel, politely asked that we bring the party to an end, but Trapper and Horsey were far from finished, so we moved it to our suite, where the dancing and drinking continued for half the night.

I woke up the next morning to the sound of the phone ringing, not remembering having passed out. I was surprised to see Pancho hanging half off of the bed next to me.

"Joe's Morgue," I answered, voice gruff from underuse and dehydration. "You kill 'em, we chill 'em."

"When I said have fun, I didn't mean go hog wild," Dago's voice was stern, though he sounded amused. "I was just woken up by the hotel manager who received several complaints from other guests about the noise coming from your hotel room until 4 o'clock this morning."

"I'm pretty sure I passed out way before that time," I countered.

He laughed softly. "Is Pancho there with you?"

"He is. I daresay he's going to have one hell of a hangover today. What time is your appointment?"

"They're sending a car for us in about an hour. I don't necessarily need him there with me if you're still going."

"Alright. Let me grab a quick shower and I'll head up to your room."

"I'm about to do the same."

"See you in a bit." I hung up and nudged Pancho's shoulder until he lifted his head from the mattress, a string of drool trailing from the corner of his mouth to the bed as he looked at me with half-lidded eyes. "Dago Red says your off duty today. I recommend rest and plenty of water."

Pancho didn't argue, and simply dropped his head back down to the mattress as he passed out again.

I slipped into the shower, managing to get a quick shave on top of scrubbing clean, then brushed my teeth to get rid of the fur coat my teeth had grown over night, dressed, and tiptoed over the plethora of bodies of K of C members that were strewn all over the suite in various states of undress, all slumbering quite heavily.

I made it up to Dago's room and was glad to see that he wasn't wearing any of his fancy robes, but rather what he called his clericals—trousers, button-up black shirt and the white roman collar. He looked nice and I leaned in to kiss him as he let me into his room.

"You're in Bayou Country now, Dago; you're going to sweat bullets in a long sleeved shirt."

He took my hands and wrapped them around his waist, making sure that I skimmed my hands along the material of his shirt as he kissed me deeply. "It's very lightweight. If I sweat, it'll evaporate."

I smiled at him, kissing him again as a knock sounded at the door. Dago moved to answer it.

"Horsey." He said with surprise.

"I'm comin' wit' ya," Horsey said, as he stepped into the room.

"Really, Horsey, that's not necessary."

"You helped me, Padre; now I gonna help you." He told Dago. "Way I figure it, them's my doctors since I done paid for the hospital. I gonna make sure they give you the best."

"That's very kind of you, Horsey," Dago said, not arguing.

When the front desk called up to alert us that the car had arrived, Dago picked up the envelope with his records and x-rays and sighed heavily, looking at me. "Well…here we go, I guess."

We headed down to the car, sitting shoulder to shoulder in the backseat as the driver navigated through the streets of New Orleans to a large facility on the outskirts of the city. There was an ornate wrought iron gate over the driveway that declared this establishment as the Heaven's Gate Hospital. It looked almost like a southern plantation-style home or hotel rather than a hospital, which I didn't particularly care for, but supposed it seemed welcoming.

As we were led inside, I was somehow not surprised to see that this was a religious-based hospital. The nurses were all dressed in outfits that were a cross between a matron and a nun, but at least the doctors didn't also seem to double as priests. Dago was taken immediately to the x-ray lab to get updated pictures while his file was taken up to the doctor he'd been referred to for review.

Horsey and I waited in the lobby for Dago, though Horsey spent most of his time chatting with the sisters at the admitting desk and I paced the floor nervously. I assumed that Horsey must have dropped his name a couple of times—that or he was well known for being their benefactor—because after about half an hour, the oncologist in charge of Dago's case came to the lobby to greet us.

"Horsey, it's good to see you again," the doctor said, shaking Horsey's hand before he turned to me. "You must be Dr. Pierce?"

"I am." I said, extending my hand.

"I was just visiting with the Archbishop for a minute while they set up for the x-rays, and he informed me you'd be sitting in on the consultation. He said you were familiar with his case?"

"Yes, I'm a thoracic surgeon, so I've reviewed the x-rays he brought with him from Rome."

"What is your recommendation?"

"I would recommend an exploratory to make sure that removal is an option, and if so, do a simple pneumonectomy of the left lung, considering that the new x-rays show no changes."

The doctor nodded, "Yes, that is what I would recommend as well."

"There is a small complication," I mentioned. "Archbishop Mulcahy has requested that I do the surgery, but I am not licensed in this state. He's aware of this, but I would prefer he have the surgery sooner rather than later. Tomorrow, even…if it's possible."

"Yes, that does present a problem." The doctor said in consideration. "Let's see what the new x-rays suggest and we'll take it from there. Agreed, Doctor?"

"Agreed."

"Why don't you come to my office and we'll wait for the Archbishop, he should be just about finished with the x-rays."

Horsey and I followed the doctor back to his office, and—sure enough—Dago joined us soon after as the nurse brought him and the new x-rays in. The doctor put the pictures up on a backlight and he and I both studied them carefully, noting that the tumor had grown in size, but it still seemed operable, even though it was dangerously close to his heart. We both agreed that the surgery couldn't wait another week.

"It has to be you, Hawkeye," Dago reiterated as we presented the recommendation. "I won't go through with this if you're not holding the scalpel."

"Dago, I'm not licensed here. If something goes wrong, I could get sued for malpractice and lose my clinic."

"I won't sue you," he said seriously. "And I'd be willing to sign a release saying that you are not responsible for anything."

"Dago…" I sighed.

"If I may," the other doctor interjected. "Seeing as how this is a very special case, and you are friends of our founder, Mr. de la Chevaux…I would be willing to be the advising surgeon, while you perform the operation."

I looked at Dago, who was looking at me pleadingly. "Will you do it, Hawkeye?"

"Will you let Trapper assist, too?"

He nodded. I looked to the other doctor who shrugged, "I'm willing to let you assemble your own team."

"Then we're all in agreement that Dago Red is my patient?"

They nodded together.

"Then Dago, you and I and Horsey are going to spend the day out in the sunshine, and first thing tomorrow morning, we're getting you in for surgery."

"I know just the thing to do," Horsey grinned.

The hospital had a driver take us to Horsey's home on the Bayou, where he led Dago and I through the house and out on the porch overlooking the swamp-like flatlands. There was a dock leading to an airboat, which made me almost giddy.

"Please tell me that's yours."

"Sho'nuff." Horsey grinned back. "You wanna ride?"

"You damn skippy," I said, mimicking his southern vernacular. He laughed and clapped me hard on the back.

"What about you, Padre? Wanna take 'er for a spin?"

Dago looked less thrilled, and I had to stifle my laugh, remembering a conversation we'd once had about his fear of rivers and lakes and oceans. "Are there…alligators in there?"

"Not in the boat," Horsey replied. "I won't let 'em git ya. Come on."

"You can hang onto me," I smirked at Dago. "Any gators try and come after you, they'll have to go through me."

"I don't know, Hawkeye…."

"Don't be a spoilsport," I teased, taking his hand and gently leading him towards the flat bottom boat as Horsey was already heading down to get it started.

The airboat was built so that the driver sat up in the captain's chair, which was high up on the back of the boat. His passengers shared a bench seat below him. Dago clutched my hand and the edge of the seat, obviously terrified.

"Relax, baby; you're going to give yourself a heart attack before we even get you in for surgery for your lung."

"Shut up, Hawkeye." He said tightly, training his eyes towards the bow of the little boat. Horsey turned the boat around and got us a ways out from his little dock before he nudged me with his foot.

"Ready?"

"Let's go!"

The large fan on the back whirred to life and I looked over to see Dago shut his eyes tightly before Horsey let us fly. The fan was almost deafening, and certainly drown out most all other sounds, except for the sound of the bottom of the boat peeling through the water. Dago was squeezing my hand so tight it hurt and I leaned over to speak into his ear.

"Open your eyes, Dago… it's incredible."

He slowly peeked his eyes open, and—not seeing any alligators coming after him—relaxed ever so slightly. I smiled at him, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. We zipped up and down the bayou, passing small one-or-two man fishing boats, whose passengers waved as we flew passed them. Dago never seemed able to relax completely, and, after a time, he leaned over.

"I want to go back." He said weakly.

I squeezed his hand and motioned for Horsey to take us back and he nodded, turning us around and heading back to his house. I leaned over to Dago. "You okay?"

He shook his head, looking a little green around the gills and I could tell he wasn't much of a seafarer in any capacity.

"Dad would have been disappointed," I teased as I helped him off the boat once we'd docked. Dad had passed on a few years back, leaving his boating business to my brothers, but he was a man of the sea 'til the day he died, and he'd even demanded that we cremate him and scatter his ashes off the coast.

Dago looked at me weakly as I deposited him in a rocking chair on the porch and Horsey brought him some seltzer to calm his stomach. I asked Horsey about his boat as the three of us sat out on the porch, and after a while, I looked over to see Dago nodding off. I knew it was the cancer that was making him so tired, but it still seemed strange to me to see him so weak. In Korea he'd seemed almost invincible—fighting the elements, fighting the odds, fighting the days upon days without real sleep. Now it seemed like a gentle breeze might carry him off like a dried up leaf. I didn't want to seriously consider him old—hell, he was only 5 years older than me—but seeing him in this feeble condition reminded me, once again, that we weren't the young men we used to be. The naïve, child-like impression of Dago that I'd always cherished was gone, and in its place was this worldly, wizened man who had done so much good with his life and—somehow—still loved a miscreant like me.

It was so unfair that he suffered now, and I hoped that this surgery tomorrow would bring back a little of the Dago I remembered from so long ago.

When we got back to the hotel, the sun was setting, and Dago still seemed very lethargic. We went first to my room to find Trapper and assess the damages of last night. Trapper and Pancho were both in the room, which had been cleaned up from our party, and all the bodies removed.

"What's the word?" He asked as Dago sat on the couch next to Pancho.

"We're doing it tomorrow morning," I told him, as he poured me a martini. "Care to assist?"

"They're letting you operate?"

"I'd like to see them try and stop me," I winked. The four of us went down the hotel restaurant for dinner, though whether Dago was too tired, too nervous, or too sick from earlier to eat I couldn't tell. He pushed his food around his plate, only managing a couple of bites before pushing his plate away.

"I'm tired." He said, looking at me.

I knew he was quietly asking me to take him back to the hotel room, so I told Trapper to get us some doggie bags and take it back to the room so I could finish my meal later, and I escorted Dago back to his suite with Pancho on his other side.

"Is there anything you would like me to do, Your Eminence? Any orders you have for tomorrow?"

"No, Pancho. Everything is in order in Rome in case something happens to me, but for now I'm fine." Dago hesitated. "I would like to ask Hawkeye to stay with me tonight…if that's alright with you."

Whether or not Pancho approved of our relationship, he merely nodded to Dago. "If you need anything, Your Eminence, I will be downstairs with Dr. McIntyre."

"Thank you, Pancho." Dago said sincerely. "See you in the morning."

I could tell that Dago was starting to get scared about the surgery, starting to consider his mortality quite seriously, but before I could ask him if he wanted to talk about it, he told me he wanted to go take a shower. I sat on the couch and picked up the television remote, flipping through the stations over and over again nervously.

I was still worried that we'd find that the tumor had either spread to his heart or had grown beyond his lung, and I itched to cut him open just to find out. I knew we both needed a good night's rest, but sleep was the further thing from my mind. Dago emerged from the shower wearing his pajamas and a robe and sat next to me on the couch, taking my hand in his as I continued to flip through the channels.

After several minutes, he took the remote and set it aside as he turned slightly to face me. "In case I don't make it," he started to say.

I shook my head, "Don't you start with that, Dago. I pulled you through when you got stabbed by that Korean kid, and I'm going to pull you through this one, too."

"You and I both know this is a little more serious than a knife wound, Hawkeye." He said gently. "I can see it in your face that you're as scared as I am about tomorrow."

"That doesn't mean you're not going to make it."

He simply looked at me for a long minute, imploring me with his eyes to listen, and so I did.

"In case I don't make it, I want you to know how blessed I feel to have known you…and to have loved you, Ben. Even if I do pull through, I want you to know this. We can't change the past, or get back all the years we've lost, Hawkeye, but even without each other life has been good to us. I've helped change an entire country—giving them medicine and education, teaching them… I've been an unofficial advisor to the Pope and, vicariously, helped to change the future of the Catholic Church—hopefully for the better. And you…you've established the Finestkind Clinic and Fishmarket. You've raised three wonderful children, and are still raising a fourth. Our lives would have been drastically different if we'd stayed together; so much would have been missed or might never have happened. I wish you and I had more time, but I don't regret the way my life has turned out…and I don't want you to regret yours either, my love."

Never, in all the time I'd known Dago, had I ever heard him refer to me by any type of pet name other than 'Hawk.' To hear him refer to me as 'my love' made my heart sing and my eyes water, and I tightened my hold on his hands. "Promise me that when you go back to Rome, that won't be the end of us, John. I can't live another 20 years without you. I know you think I'm selfish, but I love you too much to let you go again."

"I promise, Ben. We'll find a way this time."

I pulled him into my arms and kissed him deeply. Ours wasn't a perfect love, but it was love that had withstood the test of time. I understood, now, that I would rather have Dago in my life and see him on only a few occasions than to not have him at all. I'd made that mistake once…I wouldn't do it again.

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulcahy's POV.

As Hawkeye kissed me, I felt time stand still around us. I had missed this so much. My words to him had been true: I didn't regret the way our lives had turned out. I regretted that we had parted on bad terms, and that I hadn't tried to reach out to him before now, but I still believed that the separation was necessary. The more focused I was on Hawkeye, the less focused I was on serving God. I knew I couldn't truly devote myself to missionary work if I was always anticipating the next time I would see him.

Although I didn't doubt Hawkeye's surgical ability in the slightest, his anxiety over the procedure troubled me. I knew he was mainly concerned that it was too late for surgery, rather than a fear of me dying on the table, but either way it instilled in me the need to tell him how much I loved him…and had always loved him. If the surgery was a success and I was granted a little more time on this earth, then I _would_ find a way to be with Hawkeye.

As much as I deeply desired to make love to Hawkeye that night, to let our passions combine, I was much too tired and far too preoccupied. I ended the kiss, having become slightly breathless, but rested my body against his as we sat on the couch in the small common room of the suite. His arms encased me in their warmth and I closed my eyes, listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart as I laid my head against his chest.

We sat in silence, not because there wasn't anything to say, but because there was too much. Neither of us paid much attention to the television as we were wrapped up in our own thoughts, but after about half an hour, Hawkeye pressed his lips to the top of my head.

"You should get some rest, Dago."

"I'd rather sit here with you," I sighed, albeit knowing he was right.

"Come on, baby." He said, gently easing me off of him. I let him pull me to my feet, following him into the bedroom. He pulled back the covers before he stripped down to his boxers and we both climbed into the bed, where I settled once again against his chest.

"You're incredible." He murmured after a few quiet minutes had passed.

"Why?"

"Just thinking about everything you've done. If you're not careful, they might make you a saint."

I couldn't help but laugh. "I doubt that. Besides, there's already a Saint John and a Saint Patrick, so there's no room for me."

"Ah, but is there a Saint Dago Red?" He teased. "Speaking of…How come you don't go by that anymore?"

"Because I'm not an army chaplain anymore. I'm an archbishop. While it may have been an endearment from Danny, I don't think others at the Vatican would appreciate it as much, least of all the Pope."

"Well, you'll always be Dago Red in my book."

"And you'll always be a horse's ass in mine."

He laughed heartily, squeezing my shoulders and I lifted my head to kiss his lips.

Pancho rang us up promptly at six the next morning to wake us up, and I found myself surprised that we had both managed to get a fair amount of sleep. I showered and took time to properly groom myself—if it was in the cards for me to die today, I wanted to meet my maker at my best. Hawkeye was already dressed and eating the continental breakfast delivered by the hotel. I knew I couldn't eat, but that was alright with me…I certainly wasn't hungry.

"You ready for this?" He asked around a mouthful of muffin.

"If I say 'no' can we call the whole thing off?"

"Nope."

"Then why bother asking?" I replied, jesting.

He smirked, "Thought I'd at least make you feel like you've got a say."

"That's very kind of you."

Though we were both kidding around, Hawkeye reached out and took my hand, looking at me seriously. "I'm going to take care of you, Dago; just like I did in Korea."

"I have every faith in you, Hawkeye." I answered, just as solemn.

"I probably won't get the chance to say this at the hospital," he murmured, standing up and running his hands down from my shoulders, over my arms, to my wrists, then back up before he cupped my face. "I love you, John."

"I love you, too, Ben."

He kissed my lips softly, tasting of blueberries, and pulled away only when there was a knock at the door to signal the arrival of Trapper and Pancho. I sighed and searched his eyes, hoping to find strength.

"It's time." I told him quietly.

The hospital sent a car to pick us up and I sat between Pancho and Hawkeye in the backseat while Trapper sat up front with the driver asking about what kind of mileage the car got. Pancho and I were discussing business affairs. While I had put everything in order in Rome, no matter what the outcome of today's surgery was, I probably wouldn't be able to perform any necessary duties for several weeks at best, and I would need to rely on Pancho to help me complete those tasks.

"One other thing," I told him quietly. "In my bedroom at home, there is a file box labeled with Hawkeye's name. Should something happen to me, please make sure he gets the contents of that box."

"Of course, Your Eminence."

We pulled up in front of the hospital and unloaded from the car, walking into the lobby where we were met my one of the nurses. "Archbishop Mulcahy, if you're ready, we'll get in a gown and get you prepped for surgery,"

"Of course; might I have a moment alone with my friends before you whisk me away?"

"Take your time." She smiled and politely moved away as I turned to Pancho, Trapper and Hawkeye.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to pray." I requested. Pancho, naturally, bowed his head and closed his eyes. Hawkeye and Trapper both bowed their heads respectfully, but didn't close their eyes. I bowed my own head and began to pray. "Heavenly Father, I thank you for reuniting me with two of my dearest friends in my hour of need. I thank you for giving them the skill they need to perform this operation, and ask that you watch over them and guide them today. Keep their hands steady, Father. I thank you for all that you have allowed me to accomplish in Your name, and ask that—if it is your will—let this operation rid me of the sickness that has invaded my body so that I may go on to bring you glory. I thank you for the friend I have found in your servant, Pancho, who has been of immeasurable help to me over the years. Bless him, Father, and may he know how dear he has been to me. In your name, we pray…Amen."

"Amen." The others murmured.

Pancho met my eyes as we lifted our heads, and he laid his hand on my shoulder. "Father, it would be my honor to anoint you before the surgery."

"Thank you, Pancho…I would like that." I looked to the two men I had known for so long and took a deep breath. "Don't stitch your names into me."

Hawkeye smirked, "Spoilsport."

I nodded to Pancho and, together, he and I followed the nurse down to a private room where I was giving a gown. Pancho took my clothing as I undressed, hanging it on the hangers provided in the room. I removed my watch and the cross hanging around my neck, giving them both to Pancho for safe keeping before I got into the hospital bed.

Pancho pulled a small bottle from within his robes that I immediately recognized as anointing oil. He set it on the table next to the hospital bed, then pulled out a small flat box and a flask which I also recognized.

"You truly came prepared, didn't you?" I asked, laughing softly at his portable communion supplies.

"Of course, Your Eminence." He smiled, then looked at me solemnly. "Would you like the Sacrament of Penance as well?"

The thought that I _could_ die during surgery had never left my mind, and I knew that if I wasn't absolved of my sins before then, I would enter Heaven with a tainted soul. However, the sins I had committed—namely homosexual acts with Hawkeye—could not be absolved. I looked at Pancho, knowing that he probably knew I had sinned with Hawkeye while here in New Orleans, and I couldn't help but wonder what he thought of me for it.

"My sins cannot be absolved," I answered after a moment.

Pancho seemed to consider this for a minute, then raised his hand over my head and spoke, "Deus, Pater misericordiárum, qui per mortem et resurrectiónem Fílii sui mundum sibi reconciliávit et Spíritum Sanctum effúdit in remissiónem peccatórum, per ministérium Ecclésiæ indulgéntiam tibi tríbuat et pacem. Et ego te absólvo a peccátis tuisin nómine Patris et Fíliiet Spíritus Sancti." (("God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son  
has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins;  
through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."))

I looked at him in complete and utter shock, but without pause, Pancho began to recite the Lord's Prayer. He picked up the small box and opened it, pulling out a flat, round communion wafer and held it up to me.

"Corpus Christi," He said as he presented me with the Body of Christ.

"Amen," I answered, and he placed it in my mouth.

Pancho then picked up his flask and poured a small amount into a paper cup sitting on the table before presenting it to me. "Sanguis Christi."

"Amen," I answered again, accepting the Blood of Christ and drinking.

"Ipse te custódiat et perdúcat in vitam ætérnam." (("May the Lord Jesus Christ protect you and lead you to eternal life."))

"Amen."

I closed my eyes as Pancho first anointed my forehead with the oil as he spoke the sacred prayer, "Per istam sanctam Unctiónem et suam piíssimam misericórdiam, ádiuvet te Dóminus grátia Spíritus Sancti." (("Through this holy anointing may the Lord, in his love and mercy, help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit."))

"Amen." I murmured.

Then, anointing my hands, he said, "Ut a peccátis liberátumte salvet atque propítius állevet." (("May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up."))

"Amen." I said again.

Pancho laid his hand over my heart and, speaking in English, he prayed, "Father, you readily take into account every stirring of good will, and you never refuse to pardon the sins of those who seek your forgiveness. Have mercy now on your servant John, who has entered the struggle for his life. May this holy anointing and our prayer of faith comfort and aid him in body and soul. Forgive all his sins and protect him with your loving care. We ask this, Father, through your Son Jesus Christ, because he has won the victory over death, opened the way to eternal life  
and now lives and reigns with you for ever and ever."

I nearly choked on the lump of emotion that had formed in my throat, managing to croak out a weak, "Amen."

Pancho concluded with one final prayer, "Benedíctio Dei omnipoténtis, Patris et Fílii et Spíritus Sancti, descéndat super vos, et máneat semper. Amen." (("May the blessing of almighty God, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, come upon you and remain with you for ever."))

"Thank you, Pancho." I said, hardly able to speak.

"I will be here when you wake up," he assured me.

"God willing." I sighed.

Pancho gathered his things, replacing them in his pocket and gave me a respectful bow before he left the room. The nurses came in shortly after to get me ready for the proceedure, and within another half hour I was moved to a gurney and rolled to the operating room where Hawkeye, Trapper and several other surgically garbed men were waiting for me.

"Father," Hawkeye said as they rolled me up to the surgical table. "I believe we have a table for you right here."

I appreciated his humor, as it helped alleviate some of the tension I was feeling. They got me settled onto the table and Hawkeye leaned over me as the anethesiologist got into place and the nurses drapped me with a sheet. My teeth started to chatter involuntarily from nerves and the sterile chill in the room.

"Don't worry," Hawkeye said softly. "I'm going to be here every step of the way. Just remember what you did in Korea—take deep breaths and relax, and Trap and I will do the rest."

The gas passer placed a mask over my nose and mouth and I did as Hawkeye said, trying to remember to take deep breaths, even though it hurt. My extremities started to go numb and tingly and my vision blurred slightly, darkening at the edges. Though I wasn't sure why, I suddenly started to get anxious and I heard one of the nurses inform Hawkeye that my blood pressure and heart rate were rising.

"Let up on the gas," Hawkeye told the anethesiologist. I felt his gloved hand on my shoulder. "Just relax, baby. You can breath normally now."

I nodded vaguely as his words processed in my fuzzy mind. My eyes started to get heavy as the anesthesia began to put me under.

"Good...you're doing good," Hawkeye's voice sounded far away, but the words carried me away into the darkness...

Coming out from under sedation was a strange experience, and I couldn't remember if it had been like this when I'd been put under for the knife wound in Korea. I remembered only bits and pieces of things as the anesthesia started to wear off, like opening my eyes to find Pancho, Trapper and Hawkeye all sitting around the hospital room talking, and the nurses coming in to check on me, waking me up just about every hour.

I was in pain, naturally, but I could tell that I was being given some kind of medication that was keeping me mostly knocked out and oblivious to everything, which was probably for the best. The first real memory I had was of someone holding my hand. I managed to open my eyes and saw Hawkeye sitting next to the hospital bed, staring at me. He smiled broadly at me.

"Welcome back."

"I made it?"

"Of course; you let me operate, didn't you?"

"Was it…am I….?" I couldn't seem to finish the thought.

"The cancer was still contained to the left lung and we were able to remove it, though you're down a couple of ribs now, too."

"Ribs?" I asked, trying to pull through the fog in my brain so that I could actually comprehend what he was saying.

"Well, I had to remove your ribs to get to your lung. I can't exactly glue those back in." He said with a slight laugh. "Don't worry, baby, you'll hardly notice. Once the muscle has time to heal again, it'll just be a little softer in that spot, that's all."

"Thank you, Hawkeye…"

"You don't have to thank me," he murmured, squeezing my hand gently. "Why don't you try and go back to sleep, baby. The morphine's going to make you feel a little loopy, but it'll help manage the pain."

"What will you do?"

"If it's alright with you, I might go back to the hotel to shower, get something to eat and get some shut eye myself. Trapper's already gone back with Pancho."

"Okay. Thank you for staying with me."

"Stop thanking me," he said, leaning over and kissing my lips. "I'll see you tomorrow, John. Rest."

"…love you…" I mumbled as I quickly passed out again.

The next time I came to, I felt a little more alert than before, and more aware of the pain. There was a nurse checking the equipment that was attached to me and she looked over and smiled as she noticed I was awake.

"Good morning, Archbishop. How are you feeling today?"

"It hurts," I confessed.

"Yes, I'm sure it must. Dr. Pierce has asked me to limit the morphine this morning because he wants to try and get you on your feet for a little while today, or at least have you sit up in a chair."

"Where is Hawkeye?"

"He phoned from the hotel and said he'd be here in a while. That was about an hour ago."

"Thank you."

"Can I get anything for you in the meantime?"

"No; thank you." I repeated.

Hawkeye arrived not much later and smiled as he saw that I was awake. "Feel like shit yet?"

"Yet?" I scoffed weakly. "I think I passed that and went straight to 'Oh God, just take me already.'"

Hawkeye laughed and leaned in to give me a quick kiss just before Trapper and Pancho tagged along into the room after him.

"Father," Pancho smiled, coming over to touch my shoulder lightly. "It is good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, Pancho. Trapper, thank you for all your help."

"Don't mention it, Red."

"Feel like moving around a bit?" Hawkeye asked.

"No, but I have a feeling this is another one of those questions you're asking just to make me think I have a choice."

He grinned but said nothing, rather instead giving me a plump little pillow. "Here, hold this against your chest. Right now I just want to see how far out of bed we can get you."

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" I asked warily, gingerly hugging the pillow to me and feeling the protest of my body.

"It's necessary," he told me. "Not that I'm calling you _old_ , Dago, but people of advanced years are more prone to blood clots after surgery than younger people."

"'Advanced years?'"

"You are in your sixties." He pointed out, lowering the rail on the right side of the bed. "I just want to get you mobile a little; get some good circulation going."

"What do I need to do?"

"I'm only going to offer you minimal support, but I want you to sit up as tall as you can, and hang your feet over the side of the bed. I'll let you get used to sitting up for a minute, but then you're going to stand up."

I nodded and Hawkeye put his hand on my right shoulder, helping me sit up straight. The pain was intense, much worse than I remembered from after the knife wound. Trying to move around back then had been hard enough; I was older now, not quite as spry… "Hawkeye, I'm not sure I can do this yet." I told him through clenched teeth.

"Yes you can," he said gently. "You're doing fine. Just move your legs over the side of the bed. And stop holding your breath."

I groaned as I carefully started to maneuver my body around, focusing on breathing and moving slowly. By the time I had my legs dangling off the edge of the bed, I was ready to give up. I could feel where they had cut me open from my back, down across my side and it _hurt_. I gripped Hawkeye's arm with my right hand, waiting for the intense stabs of pain to subside…but they didn't.

"Breathe, Dago," he reminded me.

Trapper was standing on my left side and gently pulled open the back of the hospital gown, looking at the surgical site and checking the stitches. "'Hawkeye and Trapper were here…'" He said as he gently ran the tip of his finger along the edge of the cut.

"So help me God, if you actually stitched that into me—"

They laughed, but it was Hawkeye who reassured me that Trapper was only kidding. I glared at both of them and Hawkeye finally pried my fingers off his forearm. "Time to stand up." He told me, taking my hand for support.

With his help, I was able to slowly stand up and even shuffle the 4 feet from the bed to the window in my private room and back again before the pain was overwhelming and I was out of breath.

"You did better than I expected," Hawkeye said, helping me back into the bed and putting the rail back up after I was situated. "I want you to eat something before we give you anymore morphine."

I nodded and Pancho left to tell the nurse to bring me something to eat. I knew I was hungry and needed to eat, but it was even painful to swallow. I managed a few bites of oatmeal before I begged Hawkeye to give me something for the pain.

"Alright," he conceded, moving over to the IV stand next to the bed and adjusting a shut off valve to the morphine drip so that the medicine began to mix with the solution that was connected straight into my vein. "But I don't want you to become addicted to morphine, so in a couple of days, I'm putting you on something less potent if necessary."

The three of them stayed to keep me company for most of the day, even though I still faded in and out of sleep quite regularly. Hawkeye had me get up a few more times to move around, and by the end of the day I was nearly able to get up without assistance. The nurses removed the catheter I'd had in since before the surgery, but kept me on the IV. Hawkeye lowered the amount of morphine I was getting, and ordered the nurses to switch me over to something else starting the following day.

I'd fallen asleep again before I'd gotten a chance to say goodnight to them. Trapper and Hawkeye didn't come back with Pancho the next morning to the hospital and I realized that I had never even asked what the two of them were doing here in New Orleans in the first place—other than being pawns in a plot to remove my cancerous lung. Mary and Trapper must have given Hawkeye some reason for coming here.

"There is a medical conference they were scheduled to attend," Pancho informed me after I questioned him.

"Did you arrange for that to be here as well?" I asked pointedly, not putting it past him.

He laughed but shook his head, "No, that was a happy coincidence and provided Dr. McIntyre with the excuse he needed to bring Dr. Pierce."

"I want to know how you planned all of this, Pancho. How'd you know where to find Trapper?"

"It was not difficult to locate him, Your Eminence." He said. "From all of your stories of Korea, I knew that Dr. McIntyre was from Boston and that Dr. Pierce was from Maine. I called the general hospitals in Boston to inquire about where Dr. McIntyre might be staffed now, and was told he was working in Maine at a clinic run by Dr. Pierce. That was also not hard to locate, given his reputation. I had wanted to contact Dr. Pierce initially, but given your history, I was unsure if that would be an appropriate measure to take and did not wish to make the situation worse between you and him. So, I thought I would contact Dr. McIntyre to explain the situation and to—how you say—get a feeling for how Dr. Pierce might respond. I had only hoped that your friends might talk to you about the surgery so that you would consider it…I had not hoped they would actually perform the operation themselves."

"That was my doing," I told Pancho. "I told Hawkeye if anyone cut me open, it had to be him or I wouldn't do it."

"But _why_ , Father? Why would you risk your life in such a way?"

I looked at him for a long moment. "Because I trust him, Pancho. It's not that I doubt other doctors' abilities, but…he cares for me in a way that other doctors don't and he understands me in a way that no one ever has. It may seem silly, but…it just had to be him."

"I think I understand, Father." Pancho said gently.

I reached over and placed my hand on his. "Thank you. For everything, Pancho. Not just going behind my back to set all this up, but for your discretion and understanding in my relationship with Hawkeye. I hope I have not burdened you with all of this."

"Of course not, Your Eminence," he told me with complete sincerity. "I understand the position of the Church in this matter as much as you, but I know that you are not alone."

I looked at him curiously. I knew he wasn't referring to himself, but I couldn't help but wonder who he was speaking of.

"Besides, your sins are not so great, and your good deeds are far more significant. We all see the love of Christ when we look at you, Father. God has done many wondrous things through you. It is why we are all so selfish and want to keep you here much longer." He smiled, teasing me and I wanted to laugh, but knew it would probably kill me, so I just smiled back.

I was released from the hospital after 4 days and told to take it easy and not lift anything over 5lbs until a follow up visit with my primary care doctor in a few weeks. As Hawkeye had said, they gave me a spirometer, teaching me how to use it and making me exercise my lung several times a day. It hurt like hell, but I was determined to get back on my feet as quickly as possible.

Trapper had gone back to Maine after the conference, needing to get back to the hospital for several surgeries that were stacking up in his absence, but Hawkeye stayed with me and Pancho in New Orleans. He wanted me to wait another week before traveling by plane back to Rome, to give my lung time to adjust without getting crushed by the change in altitude, especially on such a long flight. I spent much of the time resting and healing from my surgery while Hawkeye corrupted Pancho with his card games and gambling. I was still moving slow, sore and in pain, but seemed to be making progress each day.

As I was laying—propped up on several pillows—in bed one night, Hawkeye offered to accompany me back to Rome.

"You really don't have to do that, Hawkeye."

"I know I don't have to," he said quietly. "But you're going to be leaving in a few days and I'm not ready to say goodbye again. We haven't really been able to be alone for very long here."

"I'm going to have a lot of work waiting for me when I get back," I countered. "It wouldn't really be that fun for you."

The hurt look on his face made me feel like I'd just kicked a puppy and I found myself quickly amending my statement. "That doesn't mean I wouldn't want you there, though."

"So I can come?"

"Are you sure Mary and the clinic will be alright without you?"

"Mary will understand; in fact she'll probably beg me to stay as long as I can. Trapper and Duke can handle things at the clinic until I get back."

"Hawkeye…" I said curiously. "Does Trapper know about our relationship?"

He looked at me for a long moment, as if trying to gauge how I might respond to his answer. "Yes."

I was surprised. "When did you tell him?"

"A long time ago." He admitted. "He said he always kind of suspected there was something between us. I asked him what tipped him off and he just laughed."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that the fact that I had become close friends with you tipped him off."

"Well, yes, I suppose it would seem quite odd."

He laughed softly. "He asked me about it back in Korea, you know. I lied about it then."

"I guess Trapper is much sharper than he appears to be. How about Duke?"

"No," Hawkeye said firmly. "Duke would shit himself if he knew about us. He's still the most racist, self-righteous bigot on the planet. Still calls Spearchucker 'the niggra' even after 'Chuck threatened to skin him. I think he does it now just to piss him off, but he hates blacks, Jews and faggots, that's for sure."

"What's his problem with Jewish people?"

"Same problem he's got with Catholics. They're 'backwards.'"

I shook my head sadly, "I suppose some people are incapable of change and growth."

"You know the weirdest thing about Duke…his granddaddy was the slave owner who set Spearchucker's daddy free."

"What?" I asked, thoroughly confused by that revelation.

"Swear to God," Hawkeye laughed at my expression. "Duke's granddad owned a plantation in Georgia. Spearchucker's grandfather worked on that plantation, and Spearchucker's father was born there the same year that the civil war ended and the slaves were set free."

I was trying t do the math in my head. I was fairly certain that Spearchucker was a year or two older than Hawkeye, but even still, if his father was born in 1865, then Spearchucker's father would have been…

"Old when 'Chuck was born." Hawkeye finished my thought. I hadn't realized I'd been talking out loud. "I think somewhere in the neighborhood of 50? Spearchucker's mama was a lot younger than his daddy. Second, maybe third, wife."

"That explains a lot." I said, finally puzzling it all out.

"He and Duke have a lot of history and didn't even realize it until we all got together after the war. Which just makes things worse every time Duke calls someone a 'niggra.'"

"Well, he really ought not to."

"Not everyone's a saint like you, Dago."

"Oh, please," I scoffed. "I'm the furthest thing from a saint."

"I doubt that." He grinned, knowing he was far less likely to be considered a saint. I quietly agreed with that. "So what's Rome like? I haven't been to Italy yet."

"Busy. And Catholic. If you want I'll take you on a private tour of the Vatican—if you promise me you'll be on your absolute best behavior. No exceptions."

"Are people like me even allowed into the Vatican?"

"They give tours to the public, though they limit a lot of what people see."

"Can I meet the Pope?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because he's a very busy and important man. Even I have to request an audience with him unless I'm sent for. We can't exactly just pop in and say hi."

"That's alright, I'm sure he's not as much fun as you are."

"I'm not even sure I'm still much fun, Hawkeye; if I even ever was."

"Of course you were." He countered. "I told you, whenever you stopped being so damn concerned about what others were thinking, you were a helluva lot of fun, Dago. I'm willing to bet that hasn't changed…especially since you certainly have no qualms about putting me in my place these days."

"What do you mean?"

"'Call me Dago Red again and I'll make you eat the glass.'" He said, parroting my idle threat from that first night in New Orleans. He grinned, "Pretty harsh words from an archbishop."

I chuckled, still not ready to attempt a real laugh. "Yes, well, the last thing I need is gossip in the Vatican. I'm fairly certain His Holiness, the Pope, has no idea that I once willing introduced myself to others as 'Dago Red' and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Why? It's a great nickname. And a great story."

"It's one thing to have nicknames and stories like that as a mere army chaplain, maybe even just a simple priest…but not for someone in my position. There are certain expectations. Drunken debauchery is one of those that rank high on the lists of things the Church frowns on from the clergy."

"Eh…What do they know?" Hawkeye said dismissively.

"Promise me you'll be behave, Hawkeye."

"Well, if I can't call you 'Dago' there, what should I call you?"

"John." I said after a moment's consideration. "I'm not sure having you call me 'Father' is appropriate."

"Why not… _Father_?" He teased, smirking at me.

"Hawkeye." I warned.

"Come on, _Father_ , there must be a reason, _Father_."

I sighed. "If moving wasn't so painful, I'd throttle you."

He laughed loudly and leaned in to kiss my lips. "See…you're still fun."

The day to fly home finally came. Hawkeye had called Mary to let her know he was going back with me and to have her send his passport down priority mail so that it would be there in time for our trip. As we boarded a private jet back to Rome and Hawkeye helped settle me into a seat, padding the area between me and the backrest with pillows, that surreal feeling returned and I couldn't believe that Hawkeye and I were really together again.

I started to think about all the years that had passed since that afternoon in Crabapple Cove, and again wondered how our lives might have been different if I'd stayed. It was hard for me to fathom just how easily he and I had picked up again after so long. It was just…natural. We'd only been together physically the one time that first night after our reunion, but sex wasn't the basis of our relationship, it was just a bonus. I knew that Hawkeye wasn't coming with me just for the prospect of sex—it wasn't likely that I'd be up to any extracurricular activity anytime soon, anyways—and it made me realize just how deep of a connection he and I had. It made me love and appreciate him all the more, and I held his hand as he sat beside me, trying to convey my affections for him by mere touch alone.

I tried to sleep for most of the flight, though Hawkeye woke up several times for my breathing exercises or to get up and move around the plane. He was right that air travel was harder on me with one lung, but it was more just the discomfort than anything else. The air pressure in the cabin helped make it not so hard to breathe, but I felt somewhat winded all the same.

By the time we finally landed in Rome, I was exhausted. Even though Pancho and I were officials of the Church, Hawkeye still had to go through customs, so it took more time than usual to get out of the airport. Luckily, Pancho had the forethought of loading our bags into a taxi so that we could leave as soon as Hawkeye was processed and his passport stamped.

The first thing on the agenda was food, but I was in no mood to go somewhere and sit down so Pancho had the driver drop off Hawkeye and I at my apartment. Hawkeye carried our bags in before he got me settled into the armchair in the living room.

"There's some beer in the refrigerator," I told him. "It's Italian beer, so it's not very good, but help yourself."

"I thought Italians were supposed to be well-versed in the art of brewing."

I shook my head, laughing softly. "They're wine makers. They're well-versed in grape stomping and fermentation."

"We should visit a grape vineyard while I'm here," he said, popping the top of a can of beer and sitting on the couch. "It would be like that episode of 'I love Lucy' when she stomps the grapes."

"All the more reason not to visit a vineyard," I teased. "You're capable of causing enough trouble without reenacting scenes from 'I Love Lucy.'"

"Spoi—"

"Don't say it." I cut him off, making him laugh.

Pancho eventually made it back to the apartment with a fresh pie from a pizzeria near the church and the aroma alone made my mouth water. If Italy had anything going for it, it was definitely the food. Pasta and pizza and lasagna made by real Italians couldn't be beat, but even the pies made by Italian-Americans in the states had a different taste. Maybe it was the ingredients, or maybe it was the atmosphere of being in Italy, but nothing ever tasted as good as it did here.

I did find, much to my disappointment, that the pizza seemed rather bland.

"Probably just due to the surgery," Hawkeye said, scarfing down a slice. "Some people say that their senses are affected for a while—mainly taste. It's a common side effect of some of the medications."

"It's an unfortunate side effect," I lamented with a sigh as I looked at the bland piece of pizza in my hand.

I managed to eat several slices despite the off-taste of it, and once we were finished I felt well and truly beat. I thanked Pancho for the pizza and for his taking the time to accompany me overseas, and told him to take the next day off to rest and recuperate.

Hawkeye licked his fingers clean, having finished off the last slice of pizza as Pancho and I said goodbye, and looked at me knowingly. "Do you want a shower or do you want to go straight to bed?"

"I should shower," I said tiredly. "But I feel dead."

He laughed softly. "I could give you a sponge bath."

"Yes, _that_ won't make me feel like an invalid."

"At least you'd be cleaner."

"I'll take my chances with being dirty." I got myself up and into the bedroom with Hawkeye on my heels. "You can stay up if you want to; I told you I'm not going to be much fun."

"You just had major surgery, Dago; I don't expect you to go out and run any marathons right now."

Though I was capable of dressing and undressing now, Hawkeye took control. He carefully unbuttoned my shirt and slipped it off of my shoulders and down my arms, checking the surgical site to make sure that it was healing well and not infected. Satisfied, he unbuckled my belt and pulled it free from my trousers before he undid the fastenings of my pants. He dropped to his knees in front of me, pulling down my pants and taking them off of me one leg at a time before he reached for my underwear and slowly pulled them down. He pressed his lips just under my navel, kissing across my lower abdomen to my hip, where he gently nipped my skin.

I sighed pleasantly, running my fingers through his shaggy, graying blonde hair. "You need a haircut."

"I thought you liked my hair longer." He murmured, kissing his way lower.

"Not this long," I chuckled tiredly. "A few more inches and people might mistake you for a woman."

"I doubt that," he smirked, looking up at me. "You feel up for a little action?"

"As much as I want to, I just don't think I have the energy for it."

He kissed my thigh, whispering, "You don't have to do anything but enjoy, baby."

His tongue flicked out across the head of my semi-erect penis, making me moan almost involuntarily and close my eyes as my erection became more pronounced. I held onto his head for stability as he took me into his mouth, his lips and tongue working up and down the shaft. "Hawkeye…"

He hummed softly as the head touched the back of his throat and my knees nearly buckled. He chuckled softly and pulled back. "Maybe you ought to sit on the edge of the bed."

I nodded, feeling my cheeks redden, but moved to the bed and gingerly sat down. Hawkeye crawled across the floor to me, kissing his way up from my calf to my hip before taking me into his mouth once again. I closed my eyes, tipping my head back as he sucked and slurped at me furiously. The wet noises of his mouth around me, though familiar, were sweet to hear after so long without them. This almost felt like the first time all over again, and it wasn't long before I was rapidly encroaching on my release.

"Hawkeye…" I moaned hoarsely, gripping the strands of his hair between my fingers. He pushed my legs further apart, bringing one hand up to cup my testicles, squeezing them gently.

I lost it.

"Ben!" I cried, panting and moaning as I came into his mouth.

I felt lightheaded, but completely contented, and wasn't even fully aware that Hawkeye was gently shifting me up against a pile of pillows and moving my legs up into the bed until he pulled the covers up around me and leaned in to kiss me. I could taste myself on his lips, and a random thought popped into my head that made me laugh softly.

"What's so funny?"

"Do you remember that conversation we had about where we'd be in 20 years? We must have still been in Korea at the time. I recall something about you saying you might not want to perform oral sex on me anymore."

He laughed. "I'm happy to report that I have no problem sucking you off."

He kissed me again and I blushed again.

"Though, I do remember you saying something about me going bald? I'd like to take this opportunity to point out the fact that I am most certainly not going bald."

"Just grey." I teased, running my fingers through his hair.

His eyes narrowed. "You're lucky you're injured right now, Dago."

I laughed tiredly, weakly pulling him back into another kiss. I lightly sucked his tongue, wishing I could reciprocate what he'd just done to me. Hawkeye moaned softly into my mouth, kissing me back just as ardently as I was kissing him. Once again, I had to pull back as I became breathless.

"This lack-of-oxygen business is really a pain in the ass, Hawkeye." I panted.

He brushed his nose against mine, "I know, but it's temporary. I promise."

"I hope so," I sighed and closed my eyes, far more tired now than I had been 15 minutes ago. "Will you lay with me…just for a while?"

"Of course," he murmured, moving to the other side of the bed and slipping in next to me.

I took his hand and held it. "I'm sorry I can't reciprocate right now."

"Don't worry," he teased lightly. "You can owe me."

I smiled, unable to keep my eyes open any longer and fell asleep to Hawkeye stroking the back of my hand with his thumb.

We were both awakened the next morning to the sound of knocking at the front door. Hawkeye, who had stripped down to his boxers at some point after I'd fallen asleep, lifted his sleepy head off the pillow, looking towards the origin of the noise.

"You expecting anyone?" He asked, sleepily.

"No," I answered, trying to sit up. "It's probably just Pancho."

"Should we let him in?"

"Yeah, I suppose we ought to. Just put on some pants…and hand me mine."

Hawkeye hopped out of bed, swiping his pants off the floor and tossing me the trousers I'd worn the day before. I managed to get my trousers on and fastened and went to the closet for a clean shirt. I could hear Hawkeye down the hall as he answered the front door.

"May I help you, sir?"

Sir?I thought, suddenly realizing that it must not be Pancho at the door.

"Pardon me, I was looking for Archbishop Mulcahy; this is his residence, yes?"

My heart stopped. I knew that voice anywhere. It was the Pope. I stuffed my arms into the shirt in my hands, moving too quickly and causing my wound to protest. I nearly cried out in pain, but stifled it as I buttoned my shirt, moving as quickly as I could towards the living room just as Hawkeye was explaining that this was my residence and asking if he may tell me who was calling.

"Your Holiness," I wheezed in Latin as I came into the room.

"Geeze, where's the fire?" Hawkeye said, grabbing my right arm as I swayed a little. "I told you I didn't expect you to be running any marathons."

I ignored him and looked at the Pope, speaking to him in Latin. "My apologies, Your Holiness. I was not expecting you this morning."

"Please, John; I'm not here on official business. I simply wished to see how you were doing." He replied in Latin. "Who is your friend?"

"This Dr. Benjamin Franklin Pierce," I said, speaking in English so Hawkeye could understand. "My long-time friend from Korea, who—incidentally—was in New Orleans the same time I was and who was kind enough to perform the surgery I needed."

The Pope smiled widely. "Dr. Pierce, it is my honor to meet you."

Hawkeye looked at me as the Pope shook his hand, obviously having no clue who was standing in the doorway.

"Dr. Pierce, may I present His Holiness, Pope Paul VI."

Hawkeye's eyes went wide in complete surprise and, for the first time in my life, I realized that Hawkeye had no idea how to act or what to say. "Your Holy Popeness, the honor is all mine."

His Holiness laughed, "Please, Dr. Pierce, call me 'Father' while I am here. I only wished to come and see how my friend, John, is doing after his surgery."

"You knew?" I asked, quietly surprised.

"Of course I did," he smiled knowingly. "Might I come in?"

"Oh, yes, forgive me. I seem to have misplaced my manners." Hawkeye and I stepped aside as he swept into the apartment.

"Would you like a beer, Father?" Hawkeye was the one to offer.

"I would like that very much, Dr. Pierce. Thank you." His Holiness said as he seated himself on my couch. I lowered myself into the armchair. "I've heard some interesting rumors from my spies in New Orleans."

"Rumors, Your Holiness?"

"I told him, now I'm telling you…call me Father." He smiled. Hawkeye came over with two beers, handing one to the Pope. It never ceased to amaze me how anyone could drink before mid-afternoon, but even in Korea when time had no meaning I couldn't drink unless the sun had been up for about 8 hours.

The Pope continued to speak to me as Hawkeye sat on the far end of the couch. "There is a rumor that one of my archbishops once went by the name Dago Red."

I blanched, casting a heated look at Hawkeye. "I'm afraid that rumor is true, Father…it's about me."

He laughed softly, "'Dago Red,' John?"

"It was a long time ago, Father." I admitted, blushing as I told him the edited version of how I'd gotten the nickname.

He laughed heartily and looked at Hawkeye. "And you call him by this nickname?"

"Hard to think of him as anything but Dago Red," Hawkeye said, smirking at me. "In Korea, that's all anyone ever called him. Well, except Radar. He was the only one who preferred 'Father Mulcahy' over 'Dago Red,' right?"

"Him and a few of the nurses, as I recall." I nodded.

"Well, it is perhaps good that you ceased to go by such a name once you came to the Vatican." There was a mischievous glint in his eye that belied his slight admonishment.

"Yes, most assuredly so, Your Holiness…sorry, Father."

He laughed softly, "Ah, how I do miss being able to get away and have a drink with you, John. These days I can hardly sneeze without my advisors consulting about it. I'll never know how Good John managed to sneak out at night."

"You're more than welcome here anytime, Giovanni."

He smiled warmly as I used his given name and sipped his beer. "Tell me, John…how are you doing since the surgery?"

"It gets a little better every day, but let's hope I never have to do that again."

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that," Hawkeye commented. "You've only got the one lung left, if it goes to hell, you're toast."

"I am glad you decided to have the operation." His Holiness said to me in all seriousness. "God has not finished with you yet, John Mulcahy."

"So I get the feeling," I smiled.

His Holiness stayed for a while longer until he'd finished his beer. He spoke with Hawkeye, getting to know more about the man who'd saved my life, then he bid us both farewell, shaking Hawkeye's hand vigorously at the door. "Enjoy your stay in Rome, Dr. Pierce."

He turned to me and, speaking in Latin, said in a very stern voice, "Rest and recover. Forget about your work for now; it can wait. Enjoy your time with your friend."

"Thank you, Your Holiness," I replied, also in Latin.

"Dago…" Hawkeye said as I closed the door.

"What?"

"Would you put in writing that I just met the Pope? No one at home will ever believe that."

"I can't believe it," I replied, shaking my head. "In all the times we went for a drink before he took over the office, he never came by my home, nor I his. He was the last person I ever expected to show up on my doorstep."

"So I figured," Hawkeye chortled. "The way you flew in here…are you alright?"

"Yeah, just over-exerted myself a little." I breathed a heavy sigh, trying to collect myself after such a surprise visit. "What would you like to do today?"

"You got anything to eat?" Hawkeye asked, rubbing his stomach. "Beer for breakfast is okay for an army doctor, but I need something a little more substantial."

"I probably don't," I admitted. "We could go to one of my favorite coffee shops nearby. They have the best cornetto you'll ever find."

"What's cornetto?"

"It's like a croissant but there are several varieties—plain or filled with cream or fruit jam."

"Sounds alright to me."

"Bring your camera," I told him as we properly dressed for the day—me in clericals, him in a pair of trousers and a collared shirt—then we headed out, catching a taxi into the heart of Rome.

We arrived at the Sant'Eustachio Il Caffè located in the vicinity of the famous Piazza Navona. There were several people seated outside at tables and, as we entered, men lined up at the counter with their coffee and pastries, talking loudly in Italian. I knew how Hawkeye liked his coffee, but I didn't want to muscle my way up to the counter and risk getting an elbow in the wrong place, so I took out my wallet and handed Hawkeye a 5,000₤ banknote*.

"Go to the counter and order one caffè and one cappuccino. While they're making the coffees, pick out whatever pastries or cornettos you think look good and give them the note. Most people don't tip, so they will give you your change. You can leave the coins if you want, I always do. Just be sure to hand it back to them and say 'Grazie' so they don't think you're just a stupid American who left his change. I'll go find us a table outside."

Hawkeye made his way to the counter and I smiled as I watched him wait to order, then turned and headed out on the street to wrangle a table in the shade. When he joined me a few minutes later, balancing two saucers with coffee cups and cornettos perched precariously on the side of the plate, I smiled.

"I'm guessing the cappuccino is yours," he smirked, setting it down in front of me.

"Thank you."

He dug my change out of his pocket and handed it to me before he sat down and sipped his coffee. "So do you speak Italian now, too?"

"A little bit. Most Italians speak English, but I'll speak Italian to them as a courtesy."

"Have I told you lately how incredible you are?"

I blushed. "I'm not, Hawkeye."

"You are, Dago. You live in Rome for godsake. This is part of your everyday life."

"Well, not every day, but Pancho and I come here from time to time for coffee." We both dug into our cornettos and I looked down the street toward the statues of the Piazza Navona. "I'll show you around a bit after we've finished, if you want."

"Are you sure you're up to it?"

"I'll be alright for a bit," I nodded. "Besides, being an archbishop does have some perks—namely, we don't have to wait in any lines at the tourist traps."

" _And_ you get house calls from the Pope."

"That certainly isn't an everyday thing." I chuckled.

We finished our breakfast and walked down the block to the famous city square known as the Piazza Navona. I told Hawkeye what I knew about the history of the square, about the Domitian's Stadium, which was once known as Circus Agonalis and used for athletic contests and gladiator games.

"The stadium was paved over to create the square of Piazza Navona, but there are still remnants of the stadium that are visible, and they give tours of the underground monument."

I told him about the three fountains found in the square—the Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi, which was constructed between 1647 and 1651 at the request of Pope Innocent X; the Fontana di Nettuno, which was built in 1576 by Giacomo della Porta and depicted Neptune surrounded by sea nymphs, which were added later in the 19th century; and the Fontana del Moro, whose central statue of a Moor holding a dolphin was constructed in the 17th century and the tritons around it added later in the 19th century.

"Jesus, Dago…you really are a history aficionado, aren't you?"

"I've lived in Rome for 10 years; I should know a thing or two about the history, right?"

I took Hawkeye on a brief tour of the Church of Sant'Agnese in Agone, which was also commissioned by Pope Innocent X, before meandering through the alley of sidewalk painters and sketchers and other fledgling freelance artists who peddled their works in the promenade. Once Hawkeye had seen all he cared to see there, and taken several pictures, we headed for the Pantheon, which was several blocks away.

By the time we walked through the Pantheon, and visited the neighboring statutes and fountains in the Piazza della Rotonda and Piazza della Minerva, I was wiped out. It was early afternoon, and we'd both walked off our small breakfast several times over, it seemed. We found a little trattoria that offered dine in as well as take-out service. Though I was tired, I was glad to sit and rest a spell, so we sat at a table near the window. Hawkeye ordered a zesty pasta dish called bucatini all'amatriciana, and I ordered a puntarelle romanesche—a typical roman salad.

"We'll go back to your apartment after lunch," Hawkeye assured me. "I think I've seen enough for one day."

"Good, because I'm not sure I can walk another step."

"Are you in pain at all?"

"A bit, but it's bearable. I'm mainly just exhausted."

"Remember baby, you've got one lung doing the work of two and it's still adjusting to the change. You don't need to push yourself so hard."

"I know," I sighed tiredly. "I'm just not used to feeling so strung out."

"Dago, you've busted your ass your whole life—in Tibet, in Korea, in Nepal, here in Rome—give yourself a break. Let your body heal."

We ate our lunch, letting it settle for just a minute as we talked about nothing in particular, then we headed out to catch a taxi back to the west side of Rome to the Vatican City and Piazza San Peitro where my apartment was located.

"If you don't mind," I yawned as we entered my apartment. "I think I might take a little pisolino."

"I'm guessing that doesn't mean 'take a piss?'"

I laughed and shook my head. "No. It means a _nap_."

He smiled softly, "Sure thing, baby. Before you do though, you said you kept those journals your wrote to me here?"

"Yeah, they're in a box in the bedroom. Do you want them?"

"Yeah. Sure. Why not?" He feigned nonchalance.

I laughed but motioned for him to come with me. I opened the closet and pointed to a box up on the shelf with Hawkeye's name written on the side. He pulled down the box, surprised that it was heavier than he anticipated, while I found a sheet of paper and a pen. I quickly wrote a new key for him so he could translate the runes. Hawkeye sat on the edge of the bed, putting the box in front of him.

"Mind if I read in here while you sleep?" He asked, pulling off the top of the box and looking at the contents within.

"Not at all." I answered, taking off my shoes and slipping out of my shirt and collar.

I leaned back on the pile of pillows so that I was somewhat propped up and Hawkeye leaned over and gave me a slow, sweet kiss. I watched him look over the key, relearning how to read the ancient symbols, then he cracked open the first volume and started reading as I dozed off.

TBC

₤ - Symbol for Lira, which was the dominate form of currency used in Italy until the Euro became popularized between 2002 and 2008. According to currency converters, 1 American dollar would convert to about 1431.08₤.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye's POV.

It took me several minutes to remember how to read the strange little symbols Dago had introduced me to so many years ago, but after looking over his key and comparing it to the first words in the journal, it quickly came back to me. I leaned back against the headboard, propping a pillow up behind me for padding, and started to read Dago's ongoing letter that he had started in the summer of 1954…

_Dear Hawkeye,_

_I can't imagine what you must think of me right now, how you must hate me for leaving, but I hope you can see that I had no choice. I can't tell you how much I miss you; how I wish you would have understood why I need to do this, but what is done cannot be undone. I can only hope that time will heal the pain I know we both must feel._

_I have never been more certain that God has put me where I am needed, Hawkeye. Though I know you'd probably just laugh—my being here in Nepal is Divine Intervention. After I left you, I wept for days on end out of misery and suffering and grief that I'd lost you, when a voice—God's voice—told me to get up and stop crying. It was that very day that I went to see the Maryknolls to inquire about their decision on the mission trip to Nepal. When I arrived, I was told that the Pope himself had requested that I be a representative for a world-wide organization called the United Mission to Nepal._

_Can you believe it? The Pope asked me to represent the Catholic Church. I can hardly fathom it. I've never even met the Pope, never even been to the Vatican or Rome! That the Church would entrust such an honor to me…I wish I could express how I feel, but there simply aren't words._

_I've been sent to a small village on the border of Nepal and Tibet. It feels so much like I've come home. How I've missed this culture and its people. While I cannot go into Tibet, there are merchants and monks who travel back and forth that I visit with. I wish you were here to share this with me._

_I read pages and pages of Dago's description of the town, the people, his work there. It seemed strange that a priest would have been forbidden to publicly speak about God, but I knew Dago well enough to know that his entire world didn't revolve around God, no matter what he might say to the contrary. He and I have had endless talks about everything under the sun; he only brought up religion when it truly mattered to him…or when he thought it would matter to me. That's one of the things that I really liked about Dago…he wasn't preachy unless he needed to be, but when he was, he could make a non-believer like me really listen._

_We're getting into the height of monsoon season. I'd almost forgotten how much it rains here. The sanctuary is knee-deep with water, but still we go on. Sometimes I feel incapacitated with the memories of my imprisonment—the smell of the water in the cellar; that muddy, dirty smell—I almost hyperventilated once before a service already. I wasn't sure I would be able to go down there, but somehow I endured._

_It's times like these when I need you the most. I've been having nightmares again. Last night I dreamt that a Chinese official found me and threatened to skin me and nail my hide to a cross. Silly, I know; but between the flashbacks and being this close to the border, I'm terrified they'll put me back in that jail._

_It's only been a few months since I've been gone, but I wonder what you're doing without me. I look at the picture of us from Korea everyday when I write and I long for you. I always think of writing to you, begging you to forgive me, asking if you still love me, but I can't get those last words out of my head and it just breaks my heart all over again. I can't stand the thought that you might tell me you don't love me anymore. At least this way I can pretend…_

I wanted to climb through the pages and the years of this journal and throttle the Dago who had been too afraid to write to me. I wanted to yell and scream at him for thinking that I would ever say such a thing to him, but I remembered so vividly that last day I saw him and the cruelty I showed him. How could he still love me?

I looked over at the man sleeping soundly beside me, feeling the tears burning my eyes. We had wasted a lifetime because I was too selfish to let Dago go, and he was too timid to make contact with me in the aftermath. My mind traveled back in time to the day I went home to the apartment. I knew Dago wouldn't be there, but still I'd hoped; I'd even stood outside the front door and prayed, but when I walked in and found no sign of him…I cried.

I hadn't read the letter right away; I hadn't been brave enough. Instead, I had gathered all the things that Dago had given me over the years—the Tibetan bracelet, the figure of Buddha, the letters. He'd left most of the clothes I'd given him hanging in the closet and I pulled down the red sweater that had become his favorite in the winter months, bringing it to my nose and breathing in the scent of him that still lingered on the garment. I'd never hated myself so much in my entire life.

It wasn't until I read the letter from him that I felt part of me die inside. I knew how badly I had hurt him, but to see it written in his letter…it was like a knife to my heart. What hurt even more was his forgiveness. I would never forgive myself for it…how could he? I'd known he would go to the Maryknolls, and that—even if he didn't get sent to Nepal—he would go back to being a missionary. I knew that I could track him down if I truly wanted to, but I was so ashamed of myself that I simply couldn't bring myself to do it.

When I stopped battling Jimmy Gargan at the VA, word got around that I was either sick or dying and soon I found myself being visited by Trapper John, who showed up on my doorstep with a bottle of scotch and a sympathetic ear.

"Alright," he said as he made his way into the apartment and sat on the couch. "You mind telling me what the hell's the matter with you? You're risking my reputation too, you know? It wasn't easy getting you this gig."

That was the night I told him about my affair with Dago Red. I told him how it had started out with a simple infatuation with him—a desire to know him, to befriend him, to just be around him—and how it had quickly spread into something much deeper than that. As we drank, getting drunker and drunker, I told him the details of how I'd followed him to the shower with the intent of molesting him, but how it had been him who had taken me by surprise with that first kiss. I told him how we'd sucked each other off later that night, how eventually he let me fuck him, how I let him fuck me, and how we'd been so careful to hide it from everyone in camp.

Trapper listened with a mixture of intrigue and disgust, but said nothing as I continued to tell him everything, right up to the day Dago had left me.

"I deserved it, y'know." I'd said drunkenly. "I was a fucking asshole to him. Only thing I could have done to make it worse was spit on him."

"I knew there something going on with you two," Trapper had said. "I knew there had to be some reason you wanted to be friends with him all of a sudden."

"What? Why couldn't I just want to be friends with him?"

Trapper had given me a knowing look, but hadn't verbally answered the question. "Listen, Hawkeye, maybe it's for the best that he left. This shit you two had goin' on…eventually someone was going to find out. It isn't natural for two men to live together—especially when one of 'em is married and the other's a goddamn priest. You had your fun, and I'm not judging what you did, but you're going to ruin your life if you don't get it together. If Gargan drops you, that's it. I don't have any more strings to pull."

"I know…I just miss him like crazy, Trap. I just want to tell him I'm sorry. Tell him I love him."

"You're serious, aren't you?" Trapper said after a long moment, giving me a funny look.

"About what?"

"You really… _love_ him…like _that_?"

"Yeah…I do."

"Fuck man…" Was all Trapper said before he took a long swig from the bottle.

We'd never talked about it again, but after that I was able to put myself back in the saddle. I didn't bicker as much with Jimmy, but I put up enough of a fight to stop the gossip until I'd gotten myself through the boards. I had put every reminder of Dago in a box and hid it out of sight, and—gradually—I began to think of him less and less.

I still thought about him during Christmas or on Saint Patrick's Day, and the day when Mary had given birth to our fourth child—a son.

"I want to call him John," she'd told me firmly.

"John?" I was completely unprepared for that. It felt like the air had been sucked out of me.

"Yes; John. He was a very important part of your life—our lives. And, even as much heartache as you two have caused each other, he was a good man, Hawkeye. He was decent, and kind, and he loved you very much."

"You're talking about him like he's dead." I'd grumbled as tears threatened to fall at the mention of my star-crossed lover.

We'd named him John Franklin Pierce, though I'd taken to calling him Johnny because it damn near killed me to call him just John. I'd always sworn I'd never follow in the footsteps of my father by naming one of my kids Benjamin or Franklin, but somehow at the time I felt I owed it to Dad.

Life had stayed busy enough between Mary, the kids growing up, the clinic, and running around with Trapper, Duke and Spearchucker that Dago became all but a distant memory at times. Of course I still thought about him, wondering where he was and if I ever crossed his mind at all, but life had moved on for both of us. I had learned to accept that.

When Trapper had told me about the TA&VD conference in New Orleans, I had told him flat out that I wasn't going. What did I care about the Vas Deferens anyways? I wasn't going to be performing any vasectomies on anyone, why did I have to be there? Rather than be rational about my refusal, Trapper had drugged me, stuck me in a straight jacket, and he and Mary had hauled my unconscious body onto the Louisiana-bound plane, where I'd woken up mid-flight.

"You're a dick." I'd told Trapper.

"You never know, Hawk, this could be a life-altering trip."

I had scoffed at his words then, but I wonder now if Trapper knew just how right he would be.

The unexpected knock on the hotel door followed by Trapper calling out that Dago Red was there had literally stopped my heart, and I'd nearly shaved half my face off. Surely I hadn't heard him right, but I had to see for myself. I rushed out of the bathroom, and there he was…

And, now, here I was with him; watching him sleep off the exhaustion from our trek around Rome. Separated from each other for twenty long years, the only thing that had seemed to change was time's lasting effects on the body.

I gently took Dago's hand in mine, careful not to wake him, and studied it. I'd always loved his hands…the delicate, fine-boned structure, the long fingers…they had always been so beautiful, so nimble. But his hands now were the hands of an older man.

I could tell, just by looking, that Dago had a mild case of arthritis, which had caused inflammation in the joints of his hands. I couldn't help but smile ruefully as I realized that the condition had probably developed from all the bead jiggling he'd done throughout his life, more than just a side-effect of age.

He still bore the deep, diagonal scar on his pinky finger over the distal interphalangeal joint. His nails were still perfectly manicured—as they had always been—but they were slightly yellowed from years of smoking, as was the skin of his index and middle finger where he'd always held his cigarette. The pigmentation of his skin had darkened slightly, creating a few age spots that freckled the back of his hand, which told me that he had spent a lot of time outdoors over the years. It made sense, really; Dago had always enjoyed being out in the sunshine—be it gardening, reading, or whatever else.

Other than looking slightly different, his hands felt different as well. There had been a softness about them before that didn't seem to be there now. Though they weren't the hands of a laborer, they were the hands of a man who had experienced so much, and I had missed out on all of it.

Despite everything, however, these were still Dago's hands…and they were still beautiful to me.

"What are you doing?" His hoarse voice made me jump as it broke the silence and my reverie.

"Jesus, Dago…you scared the shit out of me."

I looked up at his face as he chuckled quietly. His eyes were closed, his lips quirked up in a satisfied smirk. "Good…but that doesn't answer my question." He opened his eyes and looked at me, waiting for my response.

"Looking at your hands," I admitted, then quietly asked, "How did this happen, Dago? How did we let 20 years go between us without speaking to one another?"

He sighed softly, still looking at me. "How far into the journal did you get?"

"Not very. I got to where you said you thought of writing me but were too afraid and it just got me thinking about everything that happened between us then, and everything that's happened since."

"I always wanted to write to you, Hawkeye…I just never had the courage to. I wondered sometimes how things might have been different if you'd given me any answer other than the one you did. I couldn't ever decide if it would have been worse if you'd said yes, you did love me or no, you didn't."

"I did. Do." I corrected firmly. "I never stopped. I wish I'd never said I resented you. I didn't mean it."

"I know you didn't," he smiled softly. "At least not completely."

We looked at each other for a long minute before Dago spoke again.

"Did…did you ever think about writing to me?"

I felt tears prick my eyes, feeling the shame I had experienced so long ago all over again…almost as if it had never gone away. "Yes…"

"Why didn't you?" He asked, his voice a whisper with emotion.

"I couldn't. I was so ashamed of myself, Dago. I realized you were right about how selfish I was being. I didn't want you to go. I felt like you were abandoning me; abandoning us. I had this whole life planned out for us—a fantasy, I know…but I just wanted you to myself…just for a while longer."

"I wasn't abandoning you, or us." He said adamantly, squeezing my hand tightly. "I _had_ to go, Hawkeye. God had called to me."

"I know…but I didn't want to accept that back then. I never blamed you for going; never really even _resented_ you for going. I was just too stubborn to give up without a fight…and boy, did I make it a fight."

He laughed softly, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb in that familiar fashion. "You know, I tried so hard over the years to forget about you, to stop loving you. I eventually stopped writing in the journals because so much time had passed that I'd given up on ever seeing you or hearing from you again…but I could never seem to let go of you, no matter how hard I tried. I would dream about you, and you were never more than just a thought away. I confided my frustrations in Pancho, and his response was always the same. He'd always tell me that maybe I wasn't supposed to stop loving you. I always hated that answer because it was agony to constantly think about you and not be able to look at you or touch you or talk to you. However, the serendipity of everything that happened in New Orleans makes me believe he was right all along. It doesn't matter if our crossing paths again was planned by Pancho and Trapper, or arranged by God. It just matters that it happened, and that we both realized just how much we still love one another."

I leaned in and kissed him fiercely; completely at a loss for words until I pulled back and looked in his eyes, unable to keep from jesting. "So, do you still think you're not a fairy?"

He gave me a stern look that made me laugh, obviously still displeased with my inability to be serious for more than a minute. "Some things never change."

Pancho came by later that evening with some groceries to replenish Dago's kitchen, as well as a large box that had been postmarked in New Orleans. I helped Pancho carry everything in from his little 2-seater Fiat, admiring the squat little car with a whistle.

"Where'd you get this baby?" I asked as he put the box from the states in my arms. Whatever the package was, it was heavy as hell.

"The church provides transportation for us," he informed me.

"Why doesn't Dago have a car?"

"I escort His Eminence wherever he needs to go; or I simply run his errands for him."

"Jesus, Pancho, you're a one-man show. Is there anything you don't do for him?"

He chortled in amusement. "His laundry."

I had the feeling that was an inside joke, but simply smiled in return as we carried everything in from the car. Dago looked at the box completely at a loss as to who had sent it or what it might be.

"Open it for me, will you, Hawkeye?"

"Sure thing, babe." I said, drawing out the Swiss Army knife I kept in my pocket and cutting into the brown packing tape sealing it shut. I opened the box flaps and pulled out one of many bottles of Dixie brand beer. Dago and I both laughed as we simultaneously realized who had sent the box.

"Bless that Horsey Chevaux," Dago shook his head with mirth. "I made mention to him at some point during my visit how much I'd missed American beer. I guess this is his way of making sure I get my fill."

"Too bad he sent you this crap," I teased. "Want me to put a few in the fridge?"

"Please," he nodded, still chuckling.

Pancho stayed and cooked dinner for the three of us, and we sat around Dago's living room afterwards drinking a few Dixie's from frosted mugs that Dago kept in the icebox.

"You know, it's a sign of a true alcoholic when you always have a frosted mug on hand, Dago."

He smirked, "I guess it takes one to know one."

"I don't drink near as much as I used to." I countered.

"Is that why you had the portable still in New Orleans?"

"To be fair, Trapper brought that; but I didn't say I _don't_ drink. I just said I don't drink as _much_."

Pancho ended up hanging around until nearly 9 o'clock, playing a few rounds of poker with me and Dago before he finally called it a night. "I've made an appointment for you at 10:30 in the morning for your follow-up with the doctor," he said to Dago as he got up to leave. "If you would like, I can leave the car so Dr. Pierce can take you."

I grinned at Dago who looked back at Pancho, "Are you sure you won't need it?"

"Not unless you wish me to take you instead."

"Don't worry, Pancho Villa," I said before Dago could respond. "I'll keep it in one piece. You take tomorrow off."

Pancho looked amused before he looked at Dago, as if for permission. Dago waved his hand vaguely, "I suppose one more day off won't hurt anything."

"Thank you, Father." Pancho said, half bowing to both of us in turn before bidding us goodnight.

I met Dago's eyes and an awkward silence fell between us for a long moment as we both came up at a loss for words. We both laughed softly. "This is still so strange to me."

"What is?" I asked, moving to sit next to him on the couch.

"You. Us. Everything." He answered. "It still feels like a dream."

I held his eyes for a long minute, searching the brilliant blue depths for any uncertainty on his part. "What do we do now, baby? Did you mean what you said before the surgery? That you'd give this another try?"

"Of course I did, Hawkeye. I'm not in the habit of making idle promises." He paused for a moment as he considered the answer to my question, then shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. "I honestly don't know. I can't leave Rome and you can't leave Crabapple Cove. We're stuck in the same boat we were in 20 years ago."

"Yeah, but this time I'm not letting you bail out. How often are you allowed to travel? Go on vacation?"

"I don't know, really. I stopped traveling a long time ago. There was so much work here, so much to learn and see and do. I suppose, so long as things are in order in my dioceses, that I can take leave a few times a year."

"And I can get away whenever I want—being your own boss has its perks," I grinned. "So what if we make plans to meet for a week or two every quarter? You could come to Crabapple Cove half the time, and I could come to Rome the other half."

"I'd rather get away where no one knows either of us," Dago said softly. "Somewhere we can just be ourselves, alone, without expectation or duty."

"I thought you said that being a priest is a full-time gig. Just because you take the collar off doesn't mean you stop working for God." I teased.

"I did, and it is," he said seriously. "But I want a chance to just be me with you again. I want to feel that separation between who I am and what I am the way I started to back in Korea."

There was so much angst behind his words that I found myself wondering why it took being with me for Dago to feel like himself…then I remembered something I'd said to him so long ago. No one had ever just let him be himself. He'd always lived up to other people's expectations. When he'd come to Rome, he'd even given up the last part of his true individuality—his nickname. I sadly realized that until he'd seen me and Trapper a few weeks ago in New Orleans, no one had called him 'Dago Red' since 1954. That revelation left me wondering, however, if he truly dropped the name for reputational reasons or because the name held too many painful memories. He'd lost Danny, who had given him the name; and he'd lost me, who rarely called him anything else. I didn't ask which was right; instead, I simply pulled him into a tender embrace, gently kissing his lips.

"Okay," I said softly. "Tell me where you want to go."

Dago smiled, resting his forehead against mine. "Anywhere…everywhere… Paris, Madrid, Sweden—"

"Sweden?" I interrupted with a soft chuckle. "What the hell's in Sweden?"

"The northern lights." He answered matter-of-factly. "There are tons of places I'd like to see, but I really don't care where we go, so long as I'm with you."

"Fair enough," I smiled, kissing him again before pulling back and reaching for the spirometer sitting on the end table, pressing it into his hands. "Do your breathing exercises, I'm going to see a man about a dog."

Dago rolled his eyes, shaking his head as I got up and headed for the toilet.

The next morning we got up and got ready for Dago's follow-up with his doctor. Had I the equipment, I could have done the follow-up myself, but I would just continue on as a consultant on Dago's behalf

The doctor ran him through a battery of tests, exercises and x-rays to make sure that his heart was handling the strain of pumping blood with only one lung. Possibly the only unknown to a pneumonectomy was how the heart would cope afterwards. If there was any chance of fatality post-surgery, it was typically due to heart failure. There was no way to predict it happening, but the fact that Dago was in good health other than the cancerous lung was a huge boon to his survivability.

"How are you feeling, Archbishop?" The doctor asked as he listened to Dago's heart and surviving lung.

"I feel fine, really. It still hurts a bit, especially if I cough or laugh too hard. I still find that I get tired easily."

"That's all normal," I was saying before the doctor had a chance to respond. They both looked at me in slight amusement. "Sorry, go ahead, Doc."

"Quite alright, Dr. Pierce. He is right, however. It will simply take a little more time."

"How much more time?" Dago asked, obviously not thrilled by that news.

"A month, two tops." I answered for the doctor.

"Dear God…two months!" Dago cried in exasperation.

"Tops," I reiterated.

Dago pinched the bridge of his nose, "Why did I let you do this to me?"

"Because if you didn't, you'd be dead right now."

He looked up at me, struck by the frank tone of my voice. "You're right… I'm sorry."

I waved off his apology and said nothing else as the doctor finished up and gave Dago a proverbial thumbs up. "Everything seems to be in working order. Heart rate is slightly elevated from your normal rhythm, but that is to be expected as well. However, should you experience any severe chest pains or other discomfort beyond what you feel now, please let me know. Otherwise, I would like to follow up with you again in a few weeks."

"Thank you," Dago said as he shook the doctor's hand.

We left the office and got back into the little Fiat Pancho had leant us. As I got us headed in the direction of Vatican City, Dago pointed me to another road that headed south.

"Take that road."

I managed to weave my way through traffic and merge onto the highway leading us out of Rome. "Where are we going?"

"Anzio. It's a little fishing village about 30 or so miles from here."

"Are we going fishing?"

He laughed softly. "No, we're going to the beach."

"I hate to rain on your parade, Dago, but neither of us is really dressed for the beach."

"Oggi per me, domani a te."

I looked at him, raising an eyebrow and waiting for the translation. Dago smirked, smug that he knew he always had the upper hand when it came to foreign languages. "I think you enjoy saying things in languages others don't understand."

"It's not my fault you don't speak Italian." He shrugged.

"What'd you say?"

"'Today for me, tomorrow for thee.'" He paused, looking out his window. "You reminded me that, had it not been for you, I'd probably be dead right now. We've both said it a thousand times, Hawkeye—we've wasted so much time, I don't want to waste anymore. You'll have to go back to Crabapple Cove soon and I don't want to spend this time I've got with you laid up in my bed."

"You've never complained about being in bed with me before," I lightly teased.

"Yes, well, you weren't gray and balding 20 years ago."

"I'm _not_ balding!"

He laughed, "But you are graying…actually, in the sunlight it looks more white than grey."

I scowled at him, "You're really pushing your luck, Dago."

He smirked at me. I looked at my reflection in the rear-view mirror, trying to imagine how Dago saw me now. It was true that my hair was whitening, and far more rapidly than I liked to think about. I remembered when I'd turned 45, Mary had plucked what she thought was a gray hair from my head, but upon inspection we both realized that it wasn't gray…it was white.

"Dad skipped the gray phase too," I told Dago. "His hair was more on the brown side than blonde, but he went snow white in a matter of months. Luckily, mine isn't turning that fast."

"I like it," Dago said softly, smiling as he looked at me. "It makes you look dignified. Mine just makes me look old."

"It does not." I laughed, glancing over at him. "Okay, well, it does, but not in a bad way."

He narrowed his eyes at me, though the corners of his lips were turned upwards.

We eventually reached the town of Anzio, and Dago immediately went into tour-guide mode, pointing out points of interest and talking about the history.

"Anzio was one of the sites that the Allies landed during Operation Shingle in World War II. One of the longest and bloodiest battles of the war was fought on the beach here."

"You always take me to the best places," I teased as we found a place to park along the boardwalk.

Dago carefully leaned down and took off his shoes and socks, rolling the cuff of his trousers up to mid-calf. I watched him take off the roman collar around his neck and unbutton the top two buttons of his shirt before he rolled up his sleeves. When he'd finished, he looked over at me expectantly. "Well?"

I smirked softly and took off my own shoes and socks, rolling up the legs of my jeans before we both got out of the car and headed down the boardwalk towards the beach. There was a salty sea breeze blowing in from over the Mediterranean waters and gulls calling along the shore. We waded into the water until it was just past our ankles and Dago nodded towards an outcrop of rocks that bisected the beach in the near distance. Together we meandered along side-by-side down the beach, losing ourselves in conversation as we tried—once again—to catch up on the last two decades.

"Whatever happened to your family, Dago? Your mother and brother and nephews."

"They're all still around; still living in California."

"Your mother's still alive?" I asked, completely surprised.

He laughed softly, "Yes, she's 80, and senile, but she's still alive. She and my step-father are in a retirement home together. They used to come visit me in Rome every couple of years, but now that they're getting older, they don't travel as much. I haven't really talked to my brother too much, but he's still running a mechanic shop in San Diego. My nephews are grown, of course, all married with children of their own."

"What happened between you and your brother? And don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about."

Dago looked down at the water as we walked, not answering me for a long moment. "He found out about Danny."

"That you and he were—"

"Don't say 'lovers,' Hawkeye." He cut me off before I could even think of an appropriate label for his relationship with Danny. "But, yes…I told you I had written Danny to tell him I was home from Tibet? Well, Danny wrote me at least once a week, regardless of the fact that I didn't write back. Often he would say how much he missed me, how he wished I would come see him, how he 'needed' me because it had been so long, and asked why I wasn't writing back. Michael—my brother—was trying to figure out some way to help me cope with the nightmares and everything else, and I suppose he thought that maybe I had mentioned something to Danny in a letter that might be useful, so he read Danny's letters without my knowledge trying to glean something from them. When he realized Danny was talking about sex, he hit the roof. My brother is a very good person, but he's also very Catholic. He believes what the Bible says about homosexual acts—that it is an abomination to God. Michael was outraged; he told me I was a mockery of the Church and a disgrace to our family, then basically threw me out. I'm sure if he'd been holding a stone, he probably would have thrown it at me."

"Jesus, Dago," I reached over, taking his hand. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you." He murmured, squeezing my hand gently but not releasing it as we walked on. "I'm sorry for having lied to you about what happened back then. I love my brother very much, and we did have a good relationship up until then, but…there really is nothing worse than being disowned by your own flesh and blood. It wasn't easy to talk about…still isn't, honestly."

"You don't have to apologize, baby. I always knew there was more than what you'd told me." I tried to envision what life must have been like for Dago in the months following his return from Tibet. Trying to cope with the torture of his imprisonment, the loss of Tseten and his other monk friends, having his faith shaken, and ultimately being cast out by his brother… I'd always gotten the impression that Dago looked up to Michael a great deal, so I could only imagine how devastating his rejection must have been, and how it must have compounded his anguish and anger with God.

"Hawk?"

I realized I'd lapsed into my own thoughts for several moments and I looked over at Dago to find him looking at me curiously. We'd reached the outcrop of rocks and I sat down on a relatively flat one as I looked up at him. "Do you believe all that crap, Dago? That homosexuality is an abomination."

"Do you really want to open that can of worms, Hawkeye?"

I nodded, genuinely curious about how—or if—his beliefs had changed. Dago let out a heavy breath, casting a long suffering look towards the sky, then sat next to me on the bolder.

"That's not an easy question to answer," he started. "As a Catholic—and as a priest—I should accept the Bible as the absolute truth; the unerring Word of God as told by His disciples."

" _Should_." I caught on to the keyword in that statement.

He nodded, "I don't doubt that homosexuality is a sin in the eyes of God, but it's only a sin because it defies His original intent of sex for procreation. By Biblical standards, all fornication without procreation is an abomination because The Book dictates that sex should be between a man and woman who have been joined in marriage for the sole purpose of producing offspring. It's not that clear-cut, obviously, but that's the bottom line. Catholics believe that if a man's seed is spent in any fashion other to impregnate his wife, then he has committed an atrocity. It's why Catholics don't believe in utilizing birth control, and why masturbation is considered a sin."

"Catholics really have no idea what they're missing." I murmured jokingly.

He chuckled softly, but continued his thoughts, "But as far as homosexuality, the Bible makes only 12 references to homosexual acts—2 refer to the rape of the Angels in Sodom and Gomorrah, 5 refer to prostitution, 2 verses in Leviticus mention that a man who lies with another man is an abomination and both should be put to death, Romans talks about how God gave us over to our own immorality because He saw how corrupt we were, 1 Corinthians is an all-encompassing reference to all wrongdoing, including murder and theft, and 1 Timothy talks about the law of the land at that time and the punishment for crimes."

"Christ, do you have all of these verses underlined in your Bible, Dago? You just know this off the top of your head?"

He gave me a rueful smile, "I told you this was a can of worms, Hawkeye. I've spent many years trying to understand why God would let me struggle with something that He considers a Hell-worthy trespass. I've done my research."

"And?"

"And this is where I disagree with the Church and the Bible," he said softly, but assuredly. "In the context of rape and prostitution, yes homosexuality is an abomination, but no more than a woman who sells herself or a man who rapes a woman or molests a child. The Old Testament very specifically says that a man who lies with another man in the way he lies with a woman should be put to death because he is detestable to God. However, it's not just homosexuality that was punished in this way. The law of the Old Testament ruled that death should be the punishment for all misconduct —murder, theft, deception, disrespect of a parent, doing work on the Sabbath, lying about your virginity—all of these were considered high crimes. Today, the only thing we truly bat an eye at anymore is murder. The Old Testament also mandated that women should be subordinate and that slaves should be obedient to their masters, two concepts that have been revolutionized by the abolition of slavery and the women's rights movement. As society evolved and the norms changed, the laws of the land were also revised, making the mandates of the Old Testament null and void. Beyond that however, the birth of Christ and the writing of the New Testament became a complete contradiction to the Old Testament. Obviously, some things remained the same—like the 10 Commandments—but the teachings of Christ were those of love, compassion, acceptance, forgiveness, tolerance, and humility. These became the cornerstones of Christianity. The biggest division between the Old Testament and the New Testament though is the forgiveness of sin. While the God of the Old Testament detested sinners and cast us out of His Kingdom, the God of the New Testament accepted that we were sinners. That's why he sent his only Son as a sacrifice, so that His blood would wash away the sins of the world and purify us in the eyes of God. I do think God still abhors crimes against man—like murder and rape and molestation—but even these can be forgiven. The sinner might spend some time in purgatory to atone for their sin, but so long as a person accepts Jesus as the Savior, then all sins will be forgiven."

"That was a very long-winded non-answer, Dago." I pointed out.

"I wasn't finished." He said with a slight laugh. "I was merely taking a breath."

"Oh, by all means, continue rambling." I teased.

"I told you this wasn't a simple answer, Hawkeye. It's not just a yes or no to me. It's a complete understanding of God's compassion and love for us, and the sacrifices He made so that we could enter His Kingdom."

"Dago, I'm kidding." I made a gesture for him to continue, not letting on that I actually found what he was saying somewhat interesting. "Go on."

"Anyways, when it comes any sexual activity, I believe that you have to make a distinction between whether or not it is consensual and whether or not there is love involved in the matter before you can classify it as truly sinful. As a priest, I do not condone sexual promiscuity for anyone—gay, straight or whatever. However, be it two men, two women, or a man and woman…if they are in love, and they both consent to sexual activities, then I feel that no crime has been committed. Obviously, it is preferable that the couple be married, but seeing as how that is an impossibility for homosexual couples, one does have to make some concessions. The question remains, however, whether or not homosexuality is a sin in the eyes of God and whether or not it is an abomination. My religiosity tells me that, yes…it is a sin, but so is any sexual act outside of the sanctity of marriage that isn't used for procreation. Is it an abomination? Like I said, in the context of prostitution and rape, yes it is. I feel that society has made it more of an abomination than God has simply because it is not the norm, and people tend to pick and choose which parts of the Bible they want to apply to their lives so they focus on the Old Testament and the vengeful God rather than the love of Christ. I've come to believe that love—all love—is God-given. I didn't choose to fall in love with you, Hawkeye. I tried desperately not to have feelings for you, but I do and I have for many, many years. God isn't in the business of tricking us or tormenting us, so I have to believe that my love for you is by His design rather than some deviance or perversion on my part."

"That's quite the 180 from how you used to feel about it." I said as he looked at me, obviously finished with his rant now.

"I told you, I've had a lot of time to think about this. And I may be wrong in the end, but I'm willing to take that chance because I have faith in my God and my Savior. The problem is that the Church obviously disagrees with my point of view. While they wouldn't put a homosexual to death, the Church still feels it is an abomination and that you cannot grant absolution to homosexuals in confession. Nor would the Church let a known homosexual partake in Communion. I'm sure you remember my struggle with Painless' situation? Back then I believed that I should never question the rulings of the Church, I should never question the Bible, but the reason I was always so conflicted in carrying out those mandates was because I never fully agreed with them."

"Careful, Dago; don't let the Church get wind that you're free-thinking individual," I teased.

He laughed softly, "The sad thing is that there are probably many in the clergy who think along the same lines as me, but we fear being excommunicated for speaking out against the Church. Pancho is among the few, I think. He's never condemned or shamed me for my love for you. He could have outed me to the Church the minute I told him about you and me, but he didn't. When I was in the hospital, before the surgery, he absolved me of my sins. All of my sins."

I understood the meaning. We sat there, allowing a companionable moment of silence to pass between us before a thought struck me. "Did you know the APA declassified homosexuality as a mental illness last year? At least being queer doesn't mean you're a nutcase by default anymore."

"Hawkeye," he admonished with a slight laugh.

I couldn't help but smile, and reached out for his hand again. "Maybe that's the start of the revolution the Church needs to accept that homosexuality isn't an abomination. I mean, if society accepts it, then the Church has to amend their views, right?"

"You give the Church too much credit," he said softly, as if afraid someone might overhear him. "Don't get me wrong, I'm proud to call myself a Catholic, but Catholic dogma isn't created by God…it's created by man, and man is fallible. So long as those in charge of establishing Dogmatic law are opposed to homosexuality, the Church will never change, and by extension the followers who believe that Church law is God's law will also never change."

"So what if you became Pope one day and spoke out against the laws in place?"

"I'd probably be tried for heresy." He said matter-of-factly. "Maybe even crucified. But, I don't want to be Pope. Being an advisor is overwhelming enough, and it's not even an official duty of mine."

I considered everything he'd said for a long moment before speaking again, "So, where do you think all of this leaves you and me?"

"In a world of hurt if I am wrong," he said lightly, though seriously. "While I still don't know that I would call myself gay, I am obviously guilty of committing homosexual acts. What compounds it is the fact that I'm a priest and you're married. As I've pointed out before, adultery is very big on God's list of things not to do. I can't excuse or justify or forgive that in anyway, and it is a factor that I still feel immense guilt over, but what's done is done. For now I just have to accept things as they are. I can't speak for how you feel about our relationship, or whether you believe you'll go to Heaven or Hell or somewhere in between or neither, but—as your former Chaplain—I can offer you salvation through Jesus Christ."

Though he said the last part in jest, I knew that he was also quite serious. I laughed softly but shook my head. "I'm still not so sure where I stand in my beliefs about God, Dago. If He does exist, I still think He's a real asshole. But, if it's any consolation, I envy your faith in Him. The fact that you're so certain of His existence…I'd give anything for that."

"It isn't certainty, Hawkeye. It's just faith. I know the two terms are synonymous, but there is a difference. Certainty, to me, requires evidence of indisputable proof. The only proof I have that God exists rests in a book written thousands of years ago. To a non-Christian, the Bible is little more than a book of fairytales because they don't have faith in it. Faith means believing in something without proof of its existence or truth. Take away the Bible, and what proof is there of God? If we didn't know the story of the Virgin Mary, would we believe in Immaculate Conception? Would we believe that a human child was the Son of God? Without faith, these things seem absolutely ludicrous. I've questioned my faith countless times, even doubted the existence of God sometimes, but in the end I truly believe that there is something greater than us out there. I have faith that that 'something' is God."

"What happens to me if I never have that faith in God?"

"I can't say for certain," he said softly. "But it is Christian belief that you will be denied entry into the Kingdom of Heaven for all eternity. However, God is the ultimate judge of people's hearts, and it is He who decides who is worthy of His Kingdom."

I looked out at the surf as I absorbed all of what Dago had just said. It was somewhat amusing that I tended to always steer the conversation towards God-talk, especially since I hated being preached at, but I always found Dago's beliefs to be somewhat inspiring, even if I didn't fully agree with them. So many ministers and priests were so quick to condemn people, telling them they would go to Hell, but not Dago. If anyone was like Jesus Christ, it would be John Mulcahy. I fully believed that Dago should break away from Catholicism and start his own branch of Christianity. He made me want to believe in God and Jesus, he made Christianity appealing. The Bible was his tool and he used it to motivate rather than reprimand.

As I lost myself again in thought, Dago bent his head down, brushing his nose against my shoulder. I leaned my head gently against his, enjoying the closeness and appreciating the intimacy of the moment. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," he said softly.

"No pain?"

"No more than usual."

"Not tired?"

"No more than usual," he said again, this time with a slight smile. I turned towards him, bringing my hands up to cup his face and drawing him into a tender kiss. He faltered after a few seconds and pulled back. "Hawkeye…people could be watching."

"So? Let them watch if they want." I felt him hesitate again as I tried to resume the kiss and sighed softly, looking around for some place more discreet. There was a small cove created by the rocks that would block us from view of any on-lookers, so I took Dago's hand and pulled him to his feet as I led him towards the cove. "Better?"

His cheeks tinged with pink as he looked around the secluded rock formation. I gently took him into my arms, mindful of the surgical wound across his back and under his left arm. We kissed; tenderly at first, then more heatedly as desire flared up within us. Dago pulled back again, but this time he was looking at me with a fiery expression. "Make love to me, Hawkeye."

"Here? Now?" I asked, surprised by the request. He merely nodded. I smirked, teasing yet again, "Geeze, Dago, it really is all or nothing with you."

His blush deepened, and he smiled somewhat meekly before carefully leaning up against a tall, flat rock that jutted up out of the ground. I closed the small space between us and gently pressed up against him, kissing along his jaw and finding that spot behind his ear that had always rendered him absolutely defenseless. Judging by his intake of breath and quiet moan, I was willing to bet it still had the same effect. Dago's fingers plunged into my hair, massaging my scalp and letting the shaggy strands glide between his fingers.

My own hands skimmed down his chest to his belt, pulling the black leather strap free from the simple silver buckle. I popped the button free from the buttonhole and eased the zipper down before sliding my hand into his pants and down the front of his underwear, grasping the solid length of his cock and giving it a loving squeeze. Dago's hands slipped down to my jaw and he gently maneuvered my lips back to his, kissing me deeply and sucking my tongue in that sensual way that always drove me crazy.

I pulled back after a long minute, nuzzling his ear. "Turn around, baby."

I felt Dago shiver slightly as he complied, carefully leaning against the rock. "This seems oddly familiar," he teased lightly as I pushed his pants down his hips.

"Oh?" I pulled my cock free, spitting in my hand to slick myself up.

"I seem to recall a night in Korea outside post-op."

I laughed, having nearly forgotten about that, and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. "I seem to recall you rather enjoyed that."

He tossed me a rueful look over his shoulder and I pressed myself against his ass.

"Ready?"

He gently pushed back against me, "You shouldn't have to ask."

As I entered him, reaching around to slowly stroke him, we both groaned simultaneously in pleasure. I placed my free hand over his against the rock wall. "God, I've missed this."

"It's only been a few weeks, Hawkeye," he teased throatily.

"Years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes…it all feels like a fucking lifetime, Dago. I've never missed sex with Mary the way I've missed it with you."

Dago spread his fingers under my hand and I laced my fingers through the gaps, locking our hands tightly together. It was extremely difficult trying to remember not to be overzealous, or to lean too heavily against his back, but Dago didn't complain if he felt any pain at all.

With the sound of the waves crashing nearby on the shore, the seagulls calling, the smell of the salty sea air, the warmth of the sun overhead, Dago's hoarse voice moaning softly and the feeling of being balls deep inside of him, my senses were on overload. I couldn't help but think of how ridiculously erotic this probably was. Eat your heart out, Deborah Kerr, I thought with a salacious grin.*

I felt Dago starting to tense up, his breathing becoming more erratic, moans a little more desperate, and knew he was on the edge. With that as my cue, I thrust a little harder into him, pressing against his prostate. Dago's head fell back a little as he cried out, squeezing my hand even tighter as he came, murmuring my name over and over again.

I listened to his sounds of ecstasy, letting them carry me towards my own blissful release, which came but mere moments later. I rested my forehead against his shoulder as I spilled myself inside of him, losing myself in this moment with him and wishing to his God time would stop for us here and now. I pressed my lips against his neck before finding the shell of his ear. "I love you."

Dago's fingers squeezed mine again in response and I felt his breath hitch slightly. I pulled back a little and looked at him—head slightly bowed. There were tears on his cheeks, and my first thought was that I'd hurt him accidentally.

"Dago?" I asked softly, withdrawing gently from him. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," he shook his head, laughing softly and reaching down to hitch his pants up before I remembered to pull up my own. He turned and looked at me as I wiped my hand off on the leg of my jeans. "I love you, too."

"What's with the waterworks?" I asked, still confused by his tears.

"I'm just…happy," he smiled, wiping his eyes. "Being with you, hearing you say you love me…it just feels good, Hawk. Twenty years without those words…"

Dago shook his head, unable to finish the thought and I smiled at him in understanding, taking his hand in mine as I led him out of our little cove and back over to the rock we'd been sitting on. We watched the waves form, crest and fall over and over again for a long while, alternating between random conversation and companionable silence.

"When are you planning on going back?" Dago asked quietly.

"I haven't decided," I answered, looking back at him. It was Thursday, and I knew I probably shouldn't stay more than another week or two, even though I wanted to stay forever. "When do you go back to work?"

"I'd tentatively planned on Monday. I can't put it off any longer." He sighed softly. "You can stay as long as you want to, Hawk…but, as much as I don't want you to leave, I know you have your own life to get back to."

"You're a part of my life, too, Dago." I told him sincerely. "I wish I could clone myself so that I could be here with you and be with Mary at the same time."

He squeezed my hand, and sighed resolutely. "I'm hungry; let's get something to eat."

We headed up to one of the eateries along the boardwalk and ordered some lunch, sitting outside on the patio as we waited for our food.

"Tell me about Johnny," Dago requested out of the blue.

"Johnny? He's a typical 15 year old boy, following in his father's footsteps. He's quarterback on the junior varsity football team at his high school. He does all the sports, really—football, basketball, baseball. He's even talked about going out for track this year. Here, I've probably got a picture…" I dug my wallet out of my back pocket and flipped it open to the sleeve of pictures, finding Johnny's most recent school picture and handing it over to Dago.

"Good Heavens, Hawkeye, he looks just like you." Dago flipped through the sleeve of pictures, looking at each one carefully. "This must be Karen."

"It is indeed. But don't tell her that she looks like me." I smirked.

Dago laughed, "She has your eyes, but that's all. She looks more like Mary. She's quite beautiful."

"She's a little heartbreaker." I smiled, nodding in agreement. I watched him flip to the next one of Charlie. "That's Charlie's senior picture from high school, a bit old now, but the only decent one I have of him that I can fit in my wallet."

"Another spitting image of you," Dago remarked before turning to a picture of Tommy in his army dress uniform. "This must have been taken when he finished basic training."

I nodded, feeling a sudden surge of intense emotion. "Yeah. Dumb kid. At least he didn't become a marine."

"You should be proud of him, Hawkeye. I still remember all those boys who came through the Double Natural—scared out of their minds, but proud to be soldiers. Well…the ones who weren't drafted anyways."

"I try to be…but what I remember about Korea is the bodies, Dago. I can't stand the thought that he'll end up on some idiot meatball surgeon's table over there. Someone that isn't going to take the time to try and save him right and who's just going to take the short cut because that's what the army tells you to do and because there are so many damn bodies to save."

Dago put his hand over my clenched fist, "You have to have faith that God will protect him, Hawkeye. But if something happens to him, you have to trust that the doctors will do everything in their power to save him. And he must know that, no matter what your personal feelings of the army and war are, you're still proud of him."

I felt my eyes water and looked away, nodding. "Yeah…I guess you're right. It's just hard, you know?"

"I know." Dago said quietly, handing me back my wallet with a gentle smile. "I've always thought you had a beautiful family, Hawkeye. You're a good father."

"You've got to stop being sentimental, Dago," I teased, still feeling on the verge of tears.

"I'm 62 years old, and I just had my left lung removed; I think I've earned the right to be a little sentimental."

I laughed, brightening his smile.

We ate and talked and spent the rest of the afternoon leisurely strolling along the beach, stopping to rest whenever Dago got short of breath or tired. It was a perfect day, and as we loaded back into the car and headed for Rome, I was sad to see it end.

Dago spent the next few days showing me the rest of Rome. He took me on a private tour of the Vatican, taking me through several wings that weren't open to the general public, and—again—playing the knowledgeable historian. I was impressed by how much history he could retain about places. He'd told me that he'd lived here long enough, he should know something about it, but—Hell—I'd lived in America my entire life and I could barely recall the capitals of all the states. I still needed the mnemonic device to remember when Columbus sailed the ocean blue.

"You should have been a history teacher," I'd teased him. "Maybe I would have paid more attention if you'd been my teacher rather than Old Man Hadley."

"You probably would have just called me 'Old Man Mulcahy.'" He jested back.

On Sunday, Dago and Pancho took me to St. Peter's Basilica to observe mass with them. I was threatened within an inch of my life to be on my best behavior, but I assured him that even I wasn't so crass as to misbehave in a church. Plus, Mary would kill me if I'd gotten myself thrown out of Vatican City.

Though Dago was moving around easier by this point, he still couldn't fasten all the buttons down the front of the long cassocks he had to wear. Before leaving for the service, I helped Dago get dressed by buttoning the robes from his feet to his waist while he buttoned down from the neck and met me in the middle. These particular robes were a midnight black and had purple piping and buttons. I watched him tie a matching purple sash around his waist before fastening a short cape-like garment around his shoulders and affixing what looked like a purple skull cap to his head.

I had to admit that Dago always looked very regal in his vestments; very handsome. It gave him an untouchable air, like he would be somehow tainted if I did, but that thought always led to darker thoughts of just how much I'd love to taint him…and feel him taint me. It was deliciously erotic to imagine Dago in such a devious way, even if I never had the intention to act on that impulse.

Dressing myself in a simple black suit and tie, I shivered as Dago came up behind me, carefully folding his arms around me to help straighten my tie as I fussed with it in the mirror. The image of us posing for a photograph on my last Christmas in Korea sprang to my mind and I felt like I was looking at our former selves for a brief moment as I met his eyes in the mirror. He and I had looked good together then. I smiled as the image faded and I was staring at the visage of our present selves. We still looked good together.

The church service was nice…for a church service. It was also very elaborate, long, and packed with people. As a guest of the Archbishop of Swengchan, I was granted permission to sit in the papal seats with the other priests, deacons, bishops, cardinals and whatever other clergymen were attending the service.

A hundred people must have come up to Dago with well wishes. I was sure his arm must have been tired from shaking hands and greeting people. I hovered close to Dago's left side to try and deter anyone from clapping him on the shoulder or back. He introduced me to a few people, but thankfully not everyone. Pancho, however, felt the need to inform me of who was who and exactly what they did for the Church. I didn't have the heart to tell him I really didn't give a shit.

I'd never been to a true Catholic mass, so I had no idea what to expect. There was a lot of standing, a lot of kneeling, a lot of creepy cult-like repetition where the entire congregation spoke as one. I didn't know how they all knew when to do or say what, but it was fascinating to watch.

By the time the actual message of the service was being given, I felt like a kid trying to sit still. The pews were hard and uncomfortable, it was warm with all the bodies pressed in around me, and I had the urge to ask Dago several times how much longer this would take. I knew he'd be pissed if I did though, so I suffered through. I looked at the architecture of the church—the high domed ceiling with depictions of Biblical scenes molded in gold. Across the front of the room, just under the ornate crown molding, the words "Dicit ter tibi, Petre, Iesus: Diligis me? Cui ter, o electe, respondens ais: O Domine, tu omnia nosti, tu scis quia amo te" were inscribed in large letters against a gold background.

My Latin was limited to medical terminology, but I could recognize a few words like 'amo,' and I could work out a few other words like 'respondens,' 'tu,' and 'te'. What it all meant was lost on me, and I finally had to lean over and ask for a translation.

"Dago," I whispered, pointing up at the inscription. "What's that say?"

Dago glanced up briefly before turning his head and leaning in close to my ear, "'A third time, Jesus asked him, 'Simon, son of John, do you love me?' 'Yes, Lord', Peter said, 'You know that I love you.' Over there is where St. Peter is said to have been crucified."

I looked over at the large mosaic of a man hanging upside down on a crucifix, feeling oddly ill-at-ease by the knowledge that this place had once been the site of martyrdom.

After the service was over, Dago gave me yet another history lesson about the church, leading me up towards the center altar as people filed out of the church.

"This is the Altar of St. Joseph. This sarcophagus has several relics that belonged to the apostles Simon and Jude Thaddeus."

"You know, Dago, this is kind of a creepy place if you think about it."

He laughed softly. "It's history, Hawkeye."

Dago took me all around the Square and the Basilica, showing me the statues of the saints, and other points of interest we hadn't had time to hit over the last few days. It was late afternoon by the time Dago, Pancho and I finally decided to find something to eat.

We, again, sat outside some little eatery as we waited for our food, and I pulled my camera from a pocket inside my suit jacket. "Pancho…would you mind to get a picture of me and Dago?"

Dago laughed, amused that I'd carried my camera around all day. I stuck my tongue out at him as Pancho took the camera and instructed us both to stand up. He didn't have to ask us to get in close, as Dago threaded his arm around my waist almost automatically. I did the same to him and we both smiled genuinely as Pancho snapped a picture.

The three of us ate and talked for a while before Dago and Pancho began discussing Church business and working out priorities for when they returned to work the following day. I knew that I would probably be leaving in the next few days, and wouldn't see Pancho again before my departure, so when we bid each other farewell at the end of the meal, Pancho shook my hand firmly.

"It has been a pleasure, Dr. Pierce. I cannot thank you enough for everything you have done for His Eminence."

"Please, Pancho, call me Hawkeye. No one calls me 'Dr. Pierce' unless I'm in trouble."

"Yes, of course, Hawkeye."

"Thanks for calling Trapper," I told Pancho sincerely. "If you hadn't…"

"Yes, I understand." Pancho looked over at Dago and gave a slight bow. "Your Eminence, I will see you tomorrow."

Dago merely laid his hand on Pancho's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

As we walked back to his apartment, I looked at Dago carefully. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," came the expected reply.

"It'll get easier, Dago."

"I know," he sighed. "I just feel like this time together is being wasted."

"Believe me, baby…it's not. It's enough to just be here next to you. You could have spent the last week comatose and I'd still be relatively happy."

Dago chuckled. "You probably would have just taken advantage of me."

"Yeah, probably," I grinned, following him into his apartment and dragging him into a passionate kiss as soon as the door had closed behind us.

TBC

Deborah Kerr costarred with Burt Lancaster in "From Here to Eternity" which featured a very racy scene of the two of them kissing on the beach. The scene caused a scandal at the time, but is now considered to be a classic love scene.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulcahy's POV.

I beamed as Hawkeye kissed me once we'd reached my apartment, my entire body growing warm with desire. After so many years of celibacy I knew I'd never get enough of his kiss, his touch, his mere presence. My God, how could someone love another person so much and not spontaneously combust from it all?

I desperately wished that I wasn't still so sore and so lethargic from the surgery so that we could physically express our love unhindered, but I vowed to myself that I would be completely healed by the time we saw each other next. Then we could make up for all this lost time.

Hawkeye had told me that he planned to try and leave early on in the week, though I knew he wanted to stay longer just as much as I wanted him to stay. I'd told him I would have Pancho arrange a first class ticket. I was sorely tempted to purposely delay in making the request to my assistant just so I could keep Hawkeye here a little longer, but I knew that was unfair.

"I've managed the last 20 years without you," I said, pulling back from the kiss. "But now that you're leaving in a couple of days, I have no idea how I'll get by again."

"I feel the same way…but at least it's not going to be another 20 years before we see each other." He told me, uncharacteristically optimistic. "We'll plan to get away in a few months. Maybe go to Madrid for a couple of weeks. By then you should be able to run with the bulls like a pro."

I laughed. "Somehow I highly doubt that, but let's still plan on it."

"July or August?" Hawkeye asked as he pulled me back in and started kissing my neck, fumbling with the closures on my cope.

I closed my eyes, running my fingers through his hair. "Can't we go in July and stay until August?"

He chuckled against my skin, now pulling at the sash cinched at my waist. "Now who's being selfish?"

"Oh, I absolutely am." I confessed breathlessly as I pushed his jacket off his shoulders, his fingers now working the buttons of my cassock.

"Do you really have to be in Rome for your job?" Hawkeye asked, nuzzling my neck as we continued to undress one another. "Can't you watch over your churches from Crabapple Cove just as well as you can from here?"

"I'm sure I could," I sighed. "But it's not up to me, Hawk, it's up to the Pope. I was assigned to work in Rome. You could always bring the Finestkind Clinic over here."

He laughed, nipping at my ear, "Spearchucker already hates my guts for taking him out of Philly and making him move to the whitest state in America—which he constantly reminds me refers to snow as much as it refers to people—so I don't think he or Duke would be too thrilled about relocating to Italy."

Hawkeye pushed the cassock off my shoulders, letting it fall—still half-buttoned—to the floor. By now he was down to his trousers, shoes and socks, and I was still mostly dressed. He sighed in feigned agitation. "Goddamn all these layers…."

I didn't rebuke him this time for using God's name in vain; instead helping him remove the remaining items of clothing until we were left standing nude in the tiny foyer of my apartment. I blushed softly. "Maybe we ought to move to the bedroom."

"Good plan," he teased, kissing the top of my shoulder before sliding his hands into mine and pulling me towards the bedroom.

When we crossed the threshold, I took control, slipping my hands out of his and lightly grasping his shoulders, turning him around. I pressed against his backside and grazed his ear with my teeth as I nudged him forwards towards the bed. "Be easy, Dago." He said, a bit of apprehension in his tone. "It's been a really long time for me."

"I know," the throaty purr of my voice surprised even me and I couldn't help but laugh softly as Hawkeye looked over his shoulder at me with a raised eyebrow.

"What's gotten into you?" He teased with a smirk.

I kissed along his neck. "I just want to make you feel good."

He groaned softly as I nipped at him again, "Oh, believe me, baby…you are. Where do you want me?"

"Lean over the bed," I murmured. "It might be easier on me if I can stand up."

"You sure, Dago? You don't have to—"

"I want to," I interrupted him.

Hawkeye placed his hands on the mattress, spreading his legs as he bent over and I sucked my index and middle finger into my mouth to moisten them before gently pressing them against his opening. He half gasped and half moaned at the intrusion, and I chose that precise moment to lean over and sink my teeth into the flesh of his shoulder. He hissed in a familiar mixture of pleasure and pain, but the effect worked just as it always had and he released the tension in his backside.

"Ready?" I murmured after a few minutes of pulsing my fingers in and out, getting lost in the soft sounds of his enjoyment.

"Oh yeah," he answered hungrily.

I chuckled softly, withdrawing my fingers and licking my palm before taking myself into my hand, stroking a few times until I was wet enough to enter him, then pressed into him. The feeling of being joined with him, being encased within him, took my breath away. It felt like the first time all over again and I groaned loudly as I tried not to spend myself right away.

"Ughhhawkeye…" I breathed incoherently, gripping his hips tightly.

"Christ…" he swore softly, clasping his hand over mine, incapable of saying anything else.

Once we'd both adjusted to the position, I began to slowly move in and out. It felt absolutely incredible and I had to make a conscious effort not to hold my breath, as I had a tendency to do. Though I was doing my best to stand up straight, I kept finding my body slowly angling down over Hawkeye's, straining the torn muscles of my back which gave a twinge of pain in protest. I was determined to outlast the pain until we both found our release, but had to redouble my efforts to stand up straight.

Between keeping rhythm, remembering to breath, and concentrating on posture, I was barely aware of how close Hawkeye was until he began to vocalize his pleasure…loudly. Though the walls here weren't nearly as thin as the canvas tents in Korea, I wasn't convinced that they were thick enough to drown out the noise to the neighboring apartments. I clapped my hand over Hawkeye's mouth to muffle him and felt his body go rigid as he found his release.

Biting my lip against my cry of ecstasy as his muscles seized up around me, I let Hawkeye's orgasm bring me to my own, and I quickly followed him into bliss, spilling myself inside of him. The room was filled with the sound of our heavy breathing, and I braced my hands against his back to keep upright as I withdrew myself from him.

"Jesus, Dago," Hawkeye panted. "You're not making it easy for me to leave, you know?"

I smirked, "Good. I don't want you to leave."

Hawkeye's departure still came all too soon on Tuesday morning, and I sat on the bed as I watched him pack his bags and repack my journals in the box, intent on taking them with him to read. Though we were both trying not to be melancholy about being separated again, you could have cut the tension with a knife as we both lingered on the edge of an emotional breakdown. Pancho had arranged for a car to come pick Hawkeye up and take him to the airport around the same time that I would be leaving for work. I was sorely tempted to play hooky so that I could see him off…

"I wish you didn't have to leave." I said quietly for the hundredth time.

"I know," came the hundredth reply. "I wish I could stay."

"I've never been very good at goodbye with you."

"I'm glad," he smirked somewhat sadly, sitting next to me and taking my hand. "If saying goodbye was easy, what would be the point?"

"True."

"And, it's not goodbye, Dago. We've got a trip to plan for in a few months."

I smiled warmly at that and squeezed his hand. "I love you, Ben."

Hawkeye leaned in and pressed his lips to mine, kissing me deeply. "I love you, too, baby."

The car arrived long before either of us was ready for it. I instructed the driver to take Hawkeye's belongings and wait in the car, then stood with my lover in the foyer until we were alone. I pulled him to me in a fierce hug, not caring how badly it was hurting me. Hawkeye's arms were around me awkwardly as he tried to avoid touching the surgical site as much as possible and still hold me just as tightly.

"Thank you," I whispered on the verge of tears.

"For what?"

"Everything."

He pulled back from the embrace, intense blue eyes cutting into mine for a long moment before he kissed me passionately once again. The car honked outside, signaling the impatience of the driver, and we slowly released one another. Hawkeye brushed his fingers along my cheek.

"See you in a few months, Dago."

"Have a safe flight, Hawk."

He smiled, then ruffled my hair before slipping out of the door. I watched him head towards the car, looking back for a second as he opened the back door. He held up his hand in a peace sign before winking at me, then climbed in the car, leaving me laughing softly and rolling my eyes as the car pulled away.

I arrived at my office slightly later than usual and found Pancho already hard at work. He stood as I came in, but I waved off his formalities, "Good morning, Pancho."

"Good morning, Your Eminence. I trust Dr. Pierce is on his way to the airport?"

"Yes, thank you for arranging his travel."

"Of course." He paused, uncertainly. "If I may, Father…I am very glad everything has worked out between you and Dr. Pierce. You seem much happier with him."

I felt my face flush. "Pancho…do you think my relationship with Hawkeye is obvious to anyone else?"

He seemed to consider my question for a long time before finally answering. "No."

We went about our day as normally as possible, but Hawkeye was never far from my mind. It had been less than 8 hours and I already missed him like crazy. How had I managed 20 years without him? Oh…right…that had been agony, too. I took a deep breath, feeling the tug on my mending muscles, and closed my eyes as I slowly let it out. Summer would be here soon and Hawkeye and I would go away together, but in the meantime, I had work to do.

The first few days without him were the hardest, and I found myself constantly wondering how he was doing and if he missed me at all. I never really knew how much Hawkeye thought about me when he was around Mary and his family. I was sure he'd been swallowed up whole by his patients, friends and family, so when a letter arrived three weeks later, postmarked in Spruce Harbor, Maine, I was thoroughly surprised that he had written me. I sat on the couch with a Dixie beer as I carefully tore open the envelope and withdrew the contents within. There was a color copy of the photograph taken of us during his visit here. I smiled as I looked at it, then read the accompanying letter.

_Dago,_

_Boy, I wish I'd stayed with you. Coming back home was a nightmare. Trapper assigned several surgeries to me that were waiting when I got back. I suppose that was revenge for my taking off to Rome with you._

_Mary sends her love. She's already had my pictures from Rome developed, and has framed the one of you and I that Pancho took. She made me dig through my box of mementos to find the one from Korea so she could put it up next to the most recent one. I have to say, other than looking a little weathered, neither of us has changed much._

_After talking with Mary about us going to Madrid, she and I both think that mid-July would be the best time for me to take off. Johnny would be on summer vacation, and he's planning on attending football camp around that time. I haven't talked to Duke, Trap, or Spearchucker yet to find out if they've got anything planned around that time, but I think we should shoot for the second or third week of July. Depending on how much time you can get, maybe we can plan for two weeks in Spain—some time in Madrid, and some time traveling around. I know how much you like culture and history, surely there is bound to be heaps of both. Let me know what you think._

_I love you; I miss you; I can't wait to see you._

_Hawkeye_

I read the letter twice more, glad to have gotten it, but sad there wasn't more. Still, it gave me something to look forward to and I intended to pencil in the trip for Madrid as soon as possible.

A few days later, as Pancho and I were having breakfast at our usual haunt, I made mention to the vacation and asked for his opinion—as a Spaniard—what the best sights to see were.

"If you're going to Madrid in July, then you should plan to visit the Convento de la Encarnación on the 27th, which is celebrated as the saint's feast day by many Spaniards. I have never been, but legend says that there is a phial of blood belonging to the Santo Pantaleón. On the day of the feast, the blood miraculously liquefies, bringing good fortune to those who witness it. It draws quite the crowd, as you can imagine."

I'd heard of some 'miracle' statues that supposedly cried tears of blood, but—like Pancho—had never witnessed any of it. I was intrigued and curious, and made a mental note to put that on our itinerary.

"July is a very good time to visit España," Pancho continued, contemplating all the things to do around that time. He also mentioned the running of the bulls, which happened in many towns. He talked about the museums and theaters, the flamenco dancing, the music festivals, the Seville Cathedral, the Archivo General de las Indias, the beaches in Galicia, and his hometown of Malaga.

"I don't know how we'll have time to do all of that," I laughed as I imagined us running ourselves ragged with sightseeing. I didn't think Hawkeye would appreciate spending his entire vacation catering to my interests, however, so I ventured a little further for information. "What is there to do as far as things Hawkeye might be interested in?"

Pancho chuckled knowingly. "I think he will enjoy the tradition of hacienda el vermut. It is very big on Sundays to imbibe vermouth with tapas."

"What are tapas?"

"It's like…how you say…finger foods?"

"Like appetizers?"

"They can be, yes."

"I'm sure that's a tradition he won't want to miss out on."

I spent the next couple of weeks studying a map of Spain and marking all the places Pancho had mentioned seeing. Two weeks would be a stretch to be able to see it all, but I called around to several of the tourist information centers in the places I thought held the most options for us and requested a few brochures, which they were happy to send out. Finally, when I had a decent itinerary in place, I wrote Hawkeye back.

_Dear Hawkeye,_

_I'm sorry for the delay in answering your correspondence, but I had to do a bit of research before I could properly agree to the middle of July for our trip. Pancho thinks we should be in Madrid on July 27th (I'll explain why later) so I've made a tentative schedule of places to go, and things to see and do. I'm also enclosing several brochures that I managed to procure so you can read about it and tell me what you think._

_As Madrid is the biggest airport for international flights, I think we should schedule to fly in there, meet up, then take a flight down to Malaga in south Spain. From there, we can rent a car in which to do our cross-country tour. I propose Malaga to Seville to Galicia, then back to Madrid where we will finish our trip. By my calculations, the entire trip from Malaga to A Coruña in the Galicia province would be about 700 miles, if we spent a few days in each of the big places, and took a day or two to drive the stretch between Seville and our northern most point, I think we should be able to make it back to Madrid and have several days to spend there before our two weeks were up._

_I've tried to divide up the activities so that I don't bore you with museums and history the entire time. Pancho has assured me that Sundays are big drinking days, so I'm sure you'll be thrilled about that. And, the big drink is vermouth to boot. You could even bring your portable still and make your own martinis, though I won't be helping you lug it around, so you're on your own._

_Please feel free to add your input on the itinerary; I promise not to be too offended if you change it._

_Say hello to Mary, Trapper, Duke and Spearchucker for me. If anyone is interested in a post-surgical update, I am starting to feel better. I'm still very aware of the place you cut me open, but it doesn't kill me as much to move or stretch, though coughing and laughing are still somewhat unpleasant. I'm also noticing that I can walk further without having to stop and rest. All-in-all, I feel I'm made great strides in recovering. I can't thank you and Trapper enough, really. I owe you a great debt, Hawkeye. I have an appointment early next week to see my physician again. If there are any changes for the worse, I assure you, you'll be the first to know._

_Cum magno affectu,_

_Dago Red_

Hawkeye's reply came barely more than a week later with the proverbial thumbs up, and a jest for me to "stop lollygagging around and take care of church business" so that I'd be able to get away in July.

Things were going better than they had been in so long. I was in relatively good health, considering I'd just had a cancerous lung removed from my body, I was making plans to be with Hawkeye for a couple of weeks, and things were running smoothly in the Swengchan province, which always made my life easier. I think the mere fact that Hawkeye and I had reconnected went a very long way to improving my overall spirit and happiness. His Holiness had even made mention recently that I seemed like "a new man."

I didn't dare tell him that he owed any gratitude to Hawkeye and the fact that I had found the love I had lost two decades ago. Pancho was my sole confidant, and I knew—despite whatever his own personal feelings towards homosexuality—he accepted my relationship with Hawkeye, and even inquired about him often.

As July drew closer, Hawkeye and I took to taking turns making international calls to one another to firm up flight details and dates. I'd had Pancho call around to make reservations for us at the hotels under an assumed identity. I didn't plan to travel as Archbishop John Mulcahy, and he thankfully didn't question me about it. The money for the trip came from my own personal savings rather than church funds, as I didn't wish to misappropriate Church money. Hawkeye had insisted on paying for half of the expenses, but I told him the airline ticket was enough of an expense and that I was more than happy to cover this trip. After all, I hadn't taken a vacation in 20 years.

The day finally came for me to start packing my bags and get ready for my flight. As it worked out, Hawkeye's flight would be arriving several hours later than my own, so we planned on spending the first night in the hotel before flying down to Malaga. It was strange to pack my clothes, as I truly owned very few civilian garments. The selection in my closet was meager, and I doubted that I would be able to make it through the two weeks without wearing an outfit at least 2 or 3 times.

As I was staring into my suitcase bleakly, there was a knock on the door and I called for them to come in, knowing on instinct that it would be Pancho.

"Having trouble, Father?" There was amusement in his voice and I turned to look at him. He was holding several garment bags and I looked at him curiously.

"I hate to tell you, Pancho, but you know you're not coming with me, right?"

He laughed. "Of course, Father. I thought you might be a little unprepared, so I picked up a few things for you."

He held out the garment bags to me and I took them, completely surprised. There were several collared shirts, some trousers, a few pairs of shorts, and even swim trunks and casual shoes. "Oh, Pancho…you really didn't have to do all of this."

"You'll thank me later," he said with an amused smile. "The weather in Spain can be quite warm this time of year."

"Thank you, Pancho. Truly."

"Of course, Father."

I packed the clothes in my suitcase, leaving out one of the collared shirts to travel in and smiled as my bag looked far more likely to last the duration of the trip. I invited Pancho to stay for a couple of beers, giving him instruction on what to do if anything came up in the interim, but also telling him not to work too hard.

"You haven't taken much vacation for yourself over the years, Pancho." I noted. "Traveling to the states for my surgery was still work for you…I want you to take some real time off. If not in the next couple of weeks, then soon."

"Thank you, Father."

Flying into Spain and making my way through customs was quite the experience. As a church official, I could bypass going through customs, but since I was traveling incognito, I was doing things the civilian way. Once I had gotten my passport stamped, I assumed the identity of John P. Smith—the name Pancho had registered me with at all the hotels we'd be staying at.

It was completely liberating to feel totally divorced from the Church, but the constant guilt that I was still on duty for God nagged me at the back of my mind. Though I wouldn't be actively serving, I knew that if an opportunity to minister arose, I couldn't pass it by.

A taxi took me to the hotel, where I checked in and informed the clerk that my companion would be arriving sometime later. He assured me that Hawkeye would be shown to the room without any problems, and I was given a key and told that my bags would be brought up promptly. I thanked him and headed for the elevator.

The room was quite spacious, with a magnificent view of the city. I spent quite some time sitting near the window and watching the comings and goings of all the pedestrians down below, as well as the cars that zipped through the streets on their way to some unknown destination. As I sat there people-watching, I quickly lost myself in introspection.

Being in foreign countries was always a real eye-opener as to how much the world had changed in my lifetime. Even traveling back to America after twenty years abroad was disorienting. Though I'd never been New Orleans before, the sheer scope of the city was breathtaking. I almost wished I hadn't been sick so I could have enjoyed Bourbon Street and the jazz clubs, but being with Hawkeye again had more than made up for any lost opportunity at tourism.

Being in the city seemed to also make me more aware of the passage of time around me. I'd lived in Tibet, Korea and Nepal for many years, and had grown accustomed to the unhurried way of life in those countries. Time simply had no real meaning in any of these places. Even in the war-torn Uijeongbu, the locals always went about their business as if bombs weren't exploding in their backyards. Days were marked by sun-up and sun-down, not by how many hours remained in the day. When I'd moved to Rome, the hustle and bustle of urban living had quickly swept me away like the undercurrent of a river. It had been hard to adjust at first, and I'd often longed for a quiet, simple, country life again, but eventually I'd grown accustomed to the Italian way of life, and found it comfortable. Now, being in an entirely new place, I felt conscious of time again and it made me feel anxious, as if Hawkeye and I were once again wasting precious moments by this delay in our reunion.

Our room was equipped with a television, and I knew it would still be a few hours before Hawkeye arrived, so I sat on the edge of the bed with the remote and began to flip through the few stations available. Several of the stations were solely in Spanish but, thanks to Pancho conversing with me from time-to-time in the language, I could still understand it fairly fluently.

I'd gotten wrapped up in an episode of Juan y Manuela, though I truly had no idea what the premise of the show was, when Shave and a Haircut was tapped out on the door. My grin was already spreading from ear to ear before I'd reached the door to the suite. I leaned against the door, eager to see Hawkeye but unable to resist toying with him a little.

"Who is it?"

"Housekeeping," he said in a high falsetto Spanish accent.

"I'm sorry, we don't need you yet. Come back in an hour and change the sheets before my other lover gets here."

"Hey!" Hawkeye laughed through the door, surprised but amused by the comment. I laughed and opened the door to find him feigning anger. "Who is he; I'll kill him?"

I smirked, "You assume it's a 'he.'"

His eyebrow arched with intrigue, "Oh?"

"Get in here," I laughed, grabbing him and pulling him to me. "God, I've missed you."

His arms still held me awkwardly, obviously not wishing to cause me any pain, so I hugged him tighter in response.

"It's okay, Hawkeye. It doesn't hurt anymore."

His answering squeeze almost made me regret the words, but I simply smiled as he whispered, "I missed you too, Dago."

I pulled him into the room and he dragged his suitcase in behind him. The door closed behind us and I claimed his lips as his hands cupped my face. How could just a few months have passed and it still feel like eons since I'd last held him?

Hawkeye pulled back from the kiss and gave me a rueful look. "You're watching TV."

"Yeah," I laughed softly. "Mainly just to pass the time until you got here."

"Well, here I am," he grinned, pressing his body a little more solidly against mine. "What do you want to do first?"

I grinned back at him, my cheeks flushing, and Hawkeye's eyes darkened with answering arousal.

An hour later, we lay together in the bed, our entwined naked bodies cooling after a rather ardent sexual experience. We were sated, but not tired, and spent the time filling each other in on the last couple of months. I closed my eyes and soaked in this moment—the feel of his body, the sound of his voice, the woody undertones of his cologne. I wished that I could imprint him on my soul much the same way a hand could be imprinted in cement.

"I love you," I said as I looked up at him, unintentionally interrupting his ramblings.

Hawkeye looked at me strangely, but smiled all the same, obviously unsure where the sudden assertion had come from. "I love you, too."

After a while longer, we decided to take a bath; again not rushing our time together. Hawkeye sat behind me in the tub, gently massaging my shoulders as I leaned against him.

"So, do you feel like you again?"

"I'm starting to," I smiled. "When I first got here, I felt almost like a refugee, or someone in hiding. I'm even registered under a false surname. I know this is a terrible thing to say, but it's nice to be away from the Church for a while."

"I don't think it's a terrible thing to say," he countered gently. "You've got the unfortunate drawback of never being able to leave your office. At least when I go home for the day I can hang up my stethoscope and say, 'Sorry folks, the doc is out.' Sure, there are emergencies I have to attend to, but I don't have to see people after hours, you know? For you, there are no set hours. You've always got to be in priest-mode…or archbishop-mode now, I suppose."

It was nice to hear him affirm me and I smiled. "You know, as awful as the war was, there are times I'd give my right arm to go back to Korea. There isn't much I would do differently; well, maybe not pick up your bad habits."

He laughed somewhat sadly. "I should have never got you hooked on cigarettes."

"It was my own fault, Hawk. You never forced me to do anything I didn't want to."

"I'm not so sure," he contended. "I think you did some things just to try and fit in with us."

I couldn't argue with that, and he chuckled at my silence, kissing my neck.

"It always made things interesting whenever you did though," he murmured silkily in my ear. "I loved watching you do things with the guys. Like when Spearchucker was teaching you to throw the football at the river. I still remember the way you looked that day."

I closed my eyes, listening to his sultry voice as he reminisced about that summer day back in 1952. I could almost feel the warmth of the sun as he spoke. "I remember you taking over for him and teaching me your technique for throwing. Standing behind me, holding onto me as you took me through the motion. Then tackling me in the water."

He erupted with laughter. "That was before I knew of your fear of rivers, lakes, oceans and the like."

"I know," I said, with mock annoyance.

He chuckled. "That was such a perfect day. Well… it would have been."

That had been the day I'd been stabbed by the North Korean boy. "Even despite that, it was still a wonderful day…and it was the first time you saved my life."

Hawkeye pulled me back against his chest and rested his head next to mine. "We must be nuts, Dago. I've never been able to figure out why I'm so crazy about you."

"Me either," I admitted, smiling softly. "But it doesn't matter why…it just matters that we are."

We ordered dinner from room service and ended up finding something on the television to watch as we lay in bed together. Hawkeye was beginning to feel the effects of jet lag, so I let him doze off, content to just be next to him. When the wakeup call came the next morning, I hadn't even realized that I'd fallen asleep as well.

The flight from Madrid to Malaga took little more than an hour total, it seemed. I felt that almost as soon as we were airborne, we were landing again.

"We should have just driven," I commented as the plane touched down in Pancho's hometown.

"Air travel is deceptively quick. It would have taken a lot longer to drive here." Hawkeye reassured me.

As soon as we debarked the plane and I stepped out into the bright, warm coastal sunlight, I was in love. Malaga was magnificent. Flying in, I had been able to see the mountains that had sloped down to the beaches of the Mediterranean Sea. The sky was a brilliant shade of blue and was dotted with puffy white clouds, making it the perfect subtropical-Mediterranean climate. I envied Pancho for having grown up here.

"You know, Malaga is one of the oldest cities in the wor—"

"Dago," Hawkeye chuckled, giving me a look. "We haven't even left the airport yet."

I blushed, laughing softly. "Sorry."

We found a cab that taxied us the 5km to the resort that Pancho had booked for our stay, saying that it would be one of the most appealing things for Hawkeye, but he hadn't told me anything more. As we approached the resort, however, it quickly became clear.

"I'm going to kiss Pancho," Hawkeye exclaimed with glee as we both looked at the impressive 18-hole golf course spread out around the entire hotel.

Pancho had booked us at the Parador de Malaga Golf. I shook my head ruefully; glad that at least this first stretch of our trip would be likeable to Hawkeye. I, however, still held little interest in golf, though I knew that Hawkeye would more than likely drag me out on the course to play a round or two. I could feel the still mending muscles in my back already growing sore again at the mere thought.

As we checked in, Hawkeye was already asking about tee-times and where to check out golfing equipment, and if casual attire was permitted on the course. I was amused by his enthusiasm, and even more amused when he picked up a pamphlet and started reciting the resort history to me.

"This is amazing, Dago! The golf course was built by Tom Simpson. _Tom Simpson!_ He's designed courses all over the world."

I gave him a look of mock offense, "So if it's a history lesson about golf you care, but if it's general history you don't?"

He gave me a sheepish smile, "Sorry."

"It's alright," I chuckled.

We were shown to our room, which had a beach-front view across part of the golf course, and Hawkeye dropped his bags, flopping down on the bed to read more about the golf course from his pamphlet. I set my bags down and stepped out on the balcony, leaning against the rail and looking out at the sandy beach and teal blue water of the Mediterranean. It was hard to believe that Spain and Italy shared the same sea.

"Trapper will kill me when he hears we stayed here," Hawkeye called from inside the room.

"Just so you know," I called back. "We're not golfing the entire time we stay here."

He came up behind me, placing his hands on the rail on either side of me as he leaned against my back and nuzzled my neck. "Just the majority," he teased.

I playfully elbowed him in the ribs, making him laugh, but he rested his chin on my shoulder as he looked out at the ocean with me.

"So what's our plan? I know you've got this planned down to the minute."

"Not to the minute," I laughed. "If you want to go see about renting your golf clubs, I don't mind if you spend today golfing. But tomorrow I want to go see the sights."

"And what are you going to do if I go golfing?"

"I'll come with you. At least for a while. I'm not sure if I can get through all 18 holes."

He kissed my cheek and rested his forehead against my temple. "Have I told you're incredible lately?"

"For what this time?" I smirked.

"Do I need a reason?"

I turned my head to look at him, feigning suspicion. "Yes."

He chuckled and kissed my lips. "Come on, we'll play a few holes and then see about checking out the beach. But first, we should probably change clothes."

I readily agreed and we both changed into more casual clothing—Hawkeye wearing cut off denim shorts and a t-shirt, me wearing khakis shorts and a short-sleeve collared shirt. He pulled a canvas bucket hat from his bag as well and flopped it over his shaggy locks. I laughed as I looked at him.

"All you need are the tinted glasses and I'll start wondering if I've gone back in time."

He grinned.

"Whatever happened to your glasses anyways? You stopped wearing them after the war as I seem to recall."

"I considered what you'd said about liking my eyes," Hawkeye shrugged. "I got contact lenses. I still have glasses, but I don't wear them very often, and they aren't tinted anymore."

"I've never seen you put in or take out contacts," I said, thinking back over the years.

He just smiled smugly in return and stuffed his sock-less feet into a pair of slip-ons. "I am surprised you don't wear glasses, though. One of the first things I ever noticed about you in Korea was the fact that you always held that little book of yours right in front of your nose to read it."

I laughed softly, blushing as I admitted, "I do have glasses. I just rarely ever use them because I hate the way I look in them."

"So you were being vain back then." He said, sounding like he'd just solved a great mystery. "Do you have them here? Put them on! Let me see."

"Yes…and no." I answered, putting on my own shoes and moving toward the door.

"Spoilsport," he muttered playfully behind me.

Hawkeye checked out one set of clubs, insisting that we would share them since I wasn't sure how long I would play. He checked out a golf cart as well and drove us over to the first hole. I listened as he described the strategy, which club to start off with, and how many strokes it should take to put the ball in the hole. I knew the basics of golf, but Hawkeye's knowledge and love for the game far exceeded my own.

I watched him take a full-swing, cringing as I wondered how such a movement was going to affect me. Hawkeye seemed to notice the look of dread on my face and, gratefully, offered to drive my ball down to the other end of the green for me.

It was much less daunting to simply try and putt the ball into the hole under or at the Par level, and we played through half the course in this manner—with Hawkeye driving the balls, and me putting in the end. It was probably an unconventional way to play golf, but it was fun and Hawkeye laughed every time I overshot the hole. We took a small break near the water hazard by the 10th hole, sitting in the shade of a palm tree as we watched a guy trying to dig his way out of a sand trap.

"Thanks for letting me play, Dago." Hawkeye said sincerely.

"You don't have to thank me, Hawkeye; this is your vacation too."

"Yeah, but the point is to spend time together."

"We are, aren't we?"

"Are you having fun?" He asked skeptically.

"I am," I smiled. "I'll admit I still don't hold any great affection for golf, but it's fun because I'm with you."

"Well, it's not as fun as trying to blow up the mine field," he teased. "But you're still a natural."

"Yes, because putting a ball a few feet into a hole is extremely difficult."

"No, but doing it in a limited number of strokes can be." He bumped his shoulder against mine. "You want to call it a day or keep going?"

"We're half-way there, why don't you finish up and I'll watch the Pro from Dover show me how the game is really played."

He grinned and pulled me to my feet. "That, I can definitely do."

Hawkeye's game turned a little more seriously at that point and he took a little longer lining up his shots and choosing his clubs. He was good from what I could tell, but I supposed when you truly enjoyed something, you worked hard to be the best you could at it.

The 18th hole conveniently ended at the clubhouse where you returned all your equipment, so I waited for Hawkeye to return his clubs and the cart, then suggested that we get something to eat before going on to anything else. Hawkeye readily agreed and we wandered into the resort restaurant for a late lunch, then back to the room to change into more appropriate beachwear. Though I didn't intend on getting into the water, I put on my swim trunks. Hawkeye lent me his t-shirt to wear, saying that I should protect the scarring flesh of my back from too much exposure to the sun and sand. We grabbed a few beach towels, then made the trek down a path from the resort to the beach.

Hawkeye kicked off his shoes and laid his towel out on the sand before he looked over at me with a grin, "Coming?"

I knew he was talking about into the water and I shook my head violently. "Oh, no. I'm not going in any further than my ankles."

"Come on, it's fun."

"You go ahead; I'll watch."

Hawkeye shrugged, then jogged down the beach and straight into the water, diving into a wave just before it crashed into his waist. I felt my body grow cold with fear and anxiety as thoughts of what kinds of creatures were lurking in the water. I set my own towel down next to his and toed off my shoes before padding down to the water's edge and letting it lick at my bare feet as I watched Hawkeye alternate between diving into waves and jumping over them until he was nearly neck deep in the sea.

"Come on, Dago!" He shouted back at me.

"Aren't you out a little far?" I hollered back.

Hawkeye let a wave carry him back towards the shore, stopping several feet from me and dripping from head to toe. The water was at knee-level and he motioned to me. "Come here."

"Hawkeye," I sighed. "I can't."

"You can, baby. Look, you can see the bottom; there aren't even any fish right here."

I sighed again in exasperation, but took several small steps towards him, still standing a few feet away. "This is deep enough."

Hawkeye stepped towards me and took my hands in his, imploring me with his eyes. "Trust me, John."

"I do," I choked, discerning how much it meant to him to at least try and get me over my fear. "But I _can't_."

"Yes you can," he said softly. "Just to your knees. For five seconds, then you can go back."

I closed my eyes, feeling nauseated, but nodded. I kept them closed as Hawkeye gently pulled me deeper into the water until the waves were touching my knees.

"Look at me," he murmured, stepping in close to me and cupping my face. I opened my eyes, seeing his soft smile just before he kissed me for a long moment. When he pulled back, his smile brightened. "It's been seven seconds."

Though I was practically clinging to him, I didn't feel as anxious about standing in the knee-deep surf and even looked down at our feet in the water, giving a nervous laugh. "I can't remember the last time I was in this deep."

He laughed softly. "See, it's not so bad, right?"

"Easy for you to say," I scoffed. "I'm still terrified of the things living in here."

"Nothing will get you," he reassured me, taking my hands again. "Want to go a little further?"

"No." I said adamantly, the panic quickly returning.

"Just relax, Dago." Hawkeye said, easing me towards him as he slowly stepped backwards little by little. I was terrified that he would let go of me and I'd be paralyzed by my fear, unable to go forward or backwards, so I had little choice other than to let him lead me away from shore. The waves were crashing against my thighs, knocking me back a step and only intensifying my anxiety and great dislike of this whole experience.

"Please, Hawkeye…I want to go back."

"Come out to your waist, then we'll go back."

"First it was to my knees," I said sharply. "Now it's to my waist. What's next? My neck?"

"Calm down," he said gently, though obviously amused by my ire. "I promise. Just your waist. No further."

"Fine." I grumbled.

"Dago," he laughed softly, making me meet his eyes. "It'll be okay."

"Let's just get this over with," I said snidely as I pulled my chin away from his hand.

The strength of the waves only got worse as he pulled me deeper, and he had to hold my hands tightly so that they didn't drag us apart or knock me down. This wasn't fun in the slightest to me.

"I really hate this, Hawkeye."

"It's better if you get out passed the breakers," he said as we fought the push and pull of the water around our waist, the waves crashing hard against us, rising up past my navel with each pass. This seemed far more than waist-deep to me.

"Can we go back now?" I asked tightly.

"Alright," he conceded.

I nearly had the urge to kiss the sand as we emerged from the water, but I contented myself with simply sitting down as my legs shook unsteadily. He sat beside me and draped his arm over my shoulders, smiling.

"You did it," he said triumphantly.

"Barely." I countered.

"Doesn't matter. Barely or not, you did it and lived to tell the tale."

"The tale of how I'm never doing that again."

He laughed, then kissed me. "Even if you don't, I'm proud that you did now. Even if you did hate it."

"I was alright up to my knees, but…" I shook my head. "Any further than that is just too much."

The next day was spent in a whirlwind tour of the cathedral, the Alcazaba, the Roman Theatre, and Picasso's birthplace. The cathedral was one of my favorites, of course, but not simply because it was a church. This particular cathedral was from the Renaissance era, designed by Spanish architect Diego de Siloé. Spanish and Roman architecture were two very different things, and though Roman Catholic cathedrals typically all had the same layout, the intricate details in both the exterior and interior structure were what I truly admired.

Hawkeye enjoyed touring the Alcazaba, which was a walled fortress that had been built by the Moors sometime in the mid-11th century and captured by King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella in 1487. The fortress had been built in the center of the city overlooking the port, and was designed to impede the progress of attackers by confusing pathways that doubled back through the entrance gate, and towers which turned at sharp right angles. Inside the fortress, however was a beautiful courtyard, and several elaborate fountains, as well as the Cuartos de Granada, which had served as the home of the governors. The innermost citadel of the fortress was now housed the Malaga Archeological Museum, which we took the time to tour.

When we got back to the resort, it was late afternoon but still too early for dinner. I was tired from walking around in the sun all day, but I could see Hawkeye looking longingly at the golf course from the open doorway. I smiled as I sat on the edge of the bed and took off my shoes.

"Go play a round of golf," I told him. "I think I'll stay here and get a nap before dinner."

"You sure?" He asked, torn between wanting to play and wanting to stay with me.

I nodded, "Yes, you've indulged my history fascination long enough. I now grant you permission to have a little fun."

He chuckled, but came over to the bed, leaning down to kiss me. "I had fun. This time you didn't know everything about everywhere we went beforehand."

I glared playfully up at him but couldn't help but smile as he kissed me again.

"Sure you don't want to come with me?"

"No, you go ahead. I'm worn out." I answered, falling back against the pillow.

Hawkeye changed clothes, kissed me goodbye, then headed off to rent another set of clubs. I knew I would have several hours before he made it back, and I blissfully succumb to sleep in the meantime.

We checked out of the resort mid-morning the next day, and a taxi took us to a car rental company where Pancho had made reservations for us. He'd arranged for us to have the car for the rest of our trip, and for it to be dropped off at a sister site in Madrid the day we planned to fly home. I felt somewhat guilty for having Pancho work out all the details of my personal vacation, but resolved to get him a nice thank-you gift to show my appreciation to him.

Hawkeye loaded our bags into the hatchback of the small two-door SEAT 600, which looked similar to the Fiat that Pancho drove around, but was painted a pale yellow. Though both of us were unfamiliar with the geography, I did have a road map and elected to be the navigator, as it had been quite some time since I'd last driven, and didn't care to get behind the wheel for the first time in a foreign country. I managed to get Hawkeye onto the right highway that would take us from Malaga to Seville, then sat back with a contented sigh. I was somewhat sad to leave Malaga, as it had been very beautiful, but there was still so much to see and do and we were already 3 days into our 2 week vacation. The sand was slipping through the hourglass.

"I'm starting to think an eternity wouldn't be long enough with you," I said in response to my own thoughts.

Hawkeye glanced over at me, "I think eventually you'd get sick of me. We haven't really had enough time together for my charm to wear off."

"I doubt that." I chuckled, then sobered as I pondered. "Do you think you'd ever get tired of me? I still think I'm exceptionally dull compared to your other friends, and even Mary."

"You're different, not dull," he clarified. "But no, I don't think I'd ever get tired of you either."

"Different how?"

"Haven't we had this conversation before?" He asked. "I have an odd sense of déjà vu."

"It's possible, I suppose…but I still want to know."

"You just…are, Dago. Not that I think any of my friends are simpletons, but you're a true intellectual. You speak several languages; you're a walking encyclopedia… Duke, Trapper and Spearchucker know how to gamble, how to drink, and how to operate. We fish, fuck, and father our children in the interim. The four of us used to travel around a bit in the spirit of your suggestion back in Korea to meet up once a year, but eventually got too scattered between our families and the clinic. Or maybe we just grew up…I don't know. The point is that you're different and that's what I like about you."

"It's so strange you and I should get along as well as we do," I said, looking at him. "About the only thing we have in common is the fact that we like each other."

"Dago, I've been married for almost 40 years and if there's one thing I've learned about love, it's that it's not about having things in common so much as it is being able to appreciate what you don't have in common. Our interests are varied enough that we're constantly learning from one another. I think that's what's important, and that's what keeps us from getting bored with each other."

I hadn't considered it quite like that, but Hawkeye was right. I reached over and took his hand, smiling as companionable silence lapsed between us. After a few moments, I looked back over at him. "You've really been married for almost 40 years?"

He nodded, "Proposed to Mary right out of high school. We were 18. We waited until I was out of med school before we had the boys. Money was already tight enough. The first year of my residency, she lived with her parents and I had a little slum apartment—much worse than the one in Jersey—near the hospital. I used to call it the Swamp because it was such a dump. Obviously the name carried over to the dump I shared with Trap and Duke in Korea."

"You know, if you three would have picked up your dirty clothes and made your beds, it wouldn't have been so bad."

"That's why we had Ho-Jon…until those bastards marched him off to war."

"Poor kid," I murmured, remembering the Korean boy who worked around the camp. "It's a shame he had to leave us with your lasting influence of alcohol, pornography, and general debauchery."

"Nah, we taught him how to be a man," Hawkeye grinned. "He'd never seen a nice pair of tits until Duke gave him a nudie magazine to gander at. And he would have gotten a nice peak at Hot Lips if you hadn't have dragged him off like there was a fire."

One of the most infamous pranks that the Swampmen had ever pulled was when Hawkeye, Trapper and Duke had resolved to find out if the major was a natural blonde. They had rigged the shower tent flaps so that the unsuspecting major would be bared to the camp in her birthday suit whenever a rope was cut. I had paused to see why such a crowd had gathered—some even pulling up chairs—and had been standing next to Ho-Jon when the event unfolded before my eyes. I was shocked and embarrassed for the woman, who had nowhere to hide and no way to cover herself from the onlookers. Noticing that Ho-Jon—who was barely 17 at the time—was standing next to me, I shielded his eyes in a vain attempt to protect what remained of his innocence and quickly led him away despite his protests that he wanted to see.

"That was highly inappropriate, Hawkeye." I said staunchly.

"Was there anything we did that was appropriate, Dago?"

I considered that for a long time. "Other than saving lives, I can't think of one damn thing."

Hawkeye dissolved into laughter.

We arrived in Seville and found our way to the El Hotel Fernando III, which seemed to be almost in the heart of the city, and quite close to the points of interest listed on my itinerary. The hotel itself was relatively new—a long, white building with individual balconies for every room. There were only four floors, but there seemed to be a couple dozen rooms just on the exterior side of the building. Our room was on the 3rd floor, but the view wasn't as great as it had been in Malaga. There wasn't much we could see around the buildings on the opposite side of the street from the hotel, but that was okay.

After checking in and depositing our luggage in the room, Hawkeye and I headed down to the bar on the main floor of the hotel for a drink and something to eat. I collected a few brochures from a stand in the lobby and laid them out between us on the table as the server brought us both a beer from the tap.

"We should see about doing this," Hawkeye said, tapping his finger on a brochure of a sight-seeing bus. The brochure-written in Spanish, English, French and German—ensured that tourists would get the best tour of the city with stops at the Torro del Oro, Monasterio de la Cartuja, Plaza de España and the Parque de Maria Luisa, and the Jardines Reales Alcázares (The Royal Alcázares Gardens). The tour was scheduled to begin around 10am, and didn't end until 6pm.

"Gee, Hawkeye…it's an 8 hour tour. That seems like an awfully long time."

"Come on, Gilligan," he teased. "We'd spend the same amount of time—if not more—trying to drive to all these places ourselves. This way, we don't have to bother with the car or a map, and we can see the city."

"Alright," I conceded. "But it doesn't go to all the places I wanted to see."

"Well, we'll do those the next day."

I nodded, looking at the other brochures. "What else would you like to do? I don't want this to be all about what I want to do."

"I've never been here before, so I'm along for the ride this time…unless there's a golf course I don't know about nearby."

I gave him a playful glare and he hid his smirk behind one of the brochures he'd picked up off the table. "This looks inviting."

I took the brochure from him. "The Aire de Sevilla, Baños Árabes.* You want to go to a bathhouse?"

"Why not?" He shrugged with a sly grin.

"It says you don't need an appointment," I read, then glanced up and met his eyes. "Would you care to do that today?"

"Sounds good to me."

We finished our lunch and headed back up to the room to deposit my brochures, then drove just a few blocks until we arrived at the bathhouse. The building seemed like it might have been around for quite some time, though some renovations had been done.

The reception area was done in white marble and was softly lit with candles and sconces. Two women greeted Hawkeye and I and gave us robes, slippers and towels—swimwear was optional—then pointed us in the direction of the men's changing area.

There was a place to shower yourself—which the attendant in the changing room informed us was necessary before entering any of the baths. He also told us that were several different baths available for our use—three on the main floor which ranged from cold to temperate to hot, and a salt water bath located on the original ground floor, which was now considered the cellar of the building. We thanked him, undressed, showered, then wrapped up in our robes.

"Let's go down to the cellar first." Hawkeye suggested. We descended the marble stairs that led down to a long, narrow room. The walls and arched ceiling of the structure were made of stone, and I felt as though I was in the catacombs in Rome. There were two window openings in the stone that were blocked by opaque glass, letting a bit of sunlight stream in, but even despite the natural light and candles down the length of the room, it still seemed far too dark. Besides the two of us, no one else was down on this level. "This is creepy."

Hawkeye's voice reverberated off the stone and marble. I nodded in agreement.

"Want to go back upstairs?"

"No," I murmured. "We're down here…let's give it a try."

We set our towels down on a marble bench, then shed our robes. I carefully stepped down the marble steps into the bath. The water was chest-deep , but there were high marble benches all along the edge of the water.

"How is it?" Hawkeye asked as he dipped a toe in over the edge.

"Nice. It's actually quite warm." Which was inviting in the cool cellar-like room.

"Geronimo!" Hawkeye cried, leaping off the edge and cannon-balling in the water next to me, sending a wave of warm salt water into my open mouth as I started to admonish him. I sputtered the water back out, wiping it out of my eyes and off my face.

"Hawkeye!" I said, thoroughly unamused. "You're going to get us banned from here. I specifically recall a sign that said no diving."

"I didn't dive," he said simply, swimming past me towards the far end of the salty pool, where he sank down in the water like an alligator, with his eyes just above the waterline. I couldn't help but quietly laugh as I moved towards him. Hawkeye surfaced just to his chin and reached for my hands, gently pulling me down into a passionate kiss.

TBC

I couldn't find any history on the bathhouse in Seville, other than it had been recently updated. I'm judging by some of the pictures that it has been around a long time, and for the purposes of this story, I'm making an executive decision to add it in.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye's POV.
> 
> Some scenes of this chapter reflect the plot of M*A*S*H Goes to Las Vegas, written by Richard Hooker and William E. Butterworth (1976). Some character dialogue has been directly quoted. No copyright infringement intended.

As I slid my tongue into Dago's mouth, my mind began to supply ideas of just how we could take advantage of being down in this dark basement alone. I'd heard that Spaniards were pretty open-minded and carefree as far as sexual promiscuity went, so surely I wasn't the first person to think about fucking my lover in the bathhouse. After all, it seemed like the perfect set up—no clothes, candlelight, a very large, very warm bath… how could a man resist?

I kissed along Dago's jaw and down his throat, before sliding my tongue along his neck to his ear. "Fuck me, Dago."

"Huh?" He answered automatically, too involved in the pleasure created from my lips and tongue on his skin to comprehend the actual words. When the request sank in a few seconds later, he pulled back and looked at me with that familiar mixture of shock and timidity. "What... _here_?"

I grinned wickedly at him and watched his cheeks burn pink as his eyes darted around for other signs of life. "There's no one here but us, baby. Come here…"

I pulled him more firmly against me, letting him feel my arousal as my lips found that place just behind his ear. He groaned weakly in protest even as he tightened his hold on me. "Damn you, Hawkeye," he murmured in surrender as his cock engorged with arousal.

Triumphant in my ability to win him over, I eagerly slid my hand down his the length of his body and took his cock in my hand, squeezing as I stroked him. Dago's breathing grew slightly heavier, and his hand mirrored my own—his wet fingertips sliding down from where they were twined in my hair until his hand curled around my erection. I groaned softly, but the noise still reverberated off the stone walls and Dago covered my mouth with his, muffling my sighs of passion with a fevered kiss.

I was almost content to just jerk each other off, but the closer I came to the end, the greater the need to be inside of him. I pulled back from Dago and turned him around, pressing him up against one of the benches that ran along the perimeter of the pool, and entered him quickly. His sharp intake of breath echoed in the room, and I had the brief presence of mind to whisper an apology before I reached around and took him in my hand.

Part of me knew I was being a little rougher than necessary, but if there was any lingering pain on Dago's end, he disguised it well. Dago had once told me that Danny had always been rough, and that he appreciated that I wasn't, but he never begged me to ease up whenever my inhibitions ran a little rampant. It had always left me wondering if there wasn't a part of him that enjoyed a little forcefulness sometimes. I knew the limit with him, the things he absolutely couldn't tolerate, but it was still tempting to push his boundaries a little.

I pressed myself hard against his back as I thrust deeply into him, the movement of my body creating small waves in the water that slapped against the lip of the pool. Dago was bracing himself against the bench, one hand reaching out to grip a marble slab at the edge of the pool as pushed his body back again me. "Hawkeye..." he moaned softly, his tone indicating that he was nearing his finish.

I kissed the top of his shoulder, then sank my teeth into the same spot. I felt him shiver as I gradually increased the force of the bite, trying to remember where that fine line between pleasure and pain was, but Dago let me know...

"Ben!" He cried breathlessly as his body convulsed with the intensity of his orgasm. His muscles seized my cock, milking me into bliss with him.

I rested my head against his shoulder as I spent myself, completely complacent and in no hurry to escape this moment. I could feel Dago's slightly shallow breathing, as he was still growing accustomed to one lung, but he didn't seem to be struggling for air as he had in the first weeks after the surgery. I couldn't help but smile, knowing that if he was breathing hard, it had been good for him, too.

"Do you think anyone heard us?" He asked meekly.

"It's possible," I answered, kissing between his shoulder blades. "But I'm positive we're not the first people to fool around in here."

"So what you're saying is that this is a cesspool of sin."

I snorted a laugh as Dago craned his head around to look at me over his shoulder.

"No wonder you wanted to come here," he teased.

We spent a little while longer down in the basement pool, with Dago floating effortlessly on his back with his eyes closed. I watched him, barely fluttering his hands in the water. He looked almost like he was meditating, or sleeping. It was relaxing just to watch him, and I envied his ability to float. I had never learned how—I always just seemed to sink.

We finally decided to get out when another couple—a man and woman—came down into the basement. Dago's propriety and Catholic modesty quickly kicked back in, and he averted his eyes from the woman, shielding his own parts from her view as best he could as he clamored for his robe and towel. The woman was younger than us—probably early 30s—and quite attractive, so I certainly didn't miss the opportunity to appreciate her buxom body before we moved upstairs.

By the time we left the bathhouse, Dago and I were both hungry and tired. I was surprised by how doing little more than sitting in water for several hours could make you sleepy, but remembered the experience was supposed to be relaxing...not to mention the fact that we'd had really incredible sex right off the bat.

We went back to the hotel, cleaned up and properly dressed, then went down to the hotel restaurant for dinner, which consisted of wine, tapas, and sopa de marisco—which Dago didn't translate until I'd had the first bite.

"I recognize the shrimp," I said as I poked at the soup with my spoon, trying to identify what else was in it. "I'm assuming the other ingredients are seafood too?"

He nodded, "Shrimp and fish mainly. It's a fish soup."

"It definitely sounds more appetizing in Spanish." I commented.

After dinner, Dago and I went up to the top floor of the hotel and onto the rooftop. There was a large pool with lounge chairs spread all around. The sun had set and the lights of city glowed radiantly all around us. Dago leaned on the rail of the balcony, looking towards a tall cathedral that seemed only a few blocks away. I stood next to him, but turned my back against the rail so that I could see his face.

"We should have done this a long time ago."

"Done what?" Dago asked, looking at me curiously.

"This…" I gestured to the city. "Travel together, like we'd planned to do."

"We're doing it now," he said softly. "That's what counts. Right?"

I shrugged, not convinced. "We could have 20 years of memories built by now."

Dago didn't say anything, but I could feel his sadness. It occurred to me that we probably wouldn't have another opportunity to make 20 years worth of memories. Dago was 62 and had just had a lung removed for cancer. Professionally, I knew that if Dago lived another decade, it would be because he truly was lucky. Despite the current state of his health, I highly doubted that his heart would ever learn to compensate for the lost lung. It would give out on him sooner or later. I couldn't stomach that thought and shook my head almost violently to get it out.

"I know we both wish things were different about the past, Hawkeye…but I truly think everything happened the way it was meant to. Being a man of God means living a life of sacrifice…and you were my greatest sacrifice to serving Him."

"I don't get God." I said after a minute. "Why does he want people to suffer?"

"He doesn't want people to suffer," Dago replied, looking at me. "Suffering is part of the human condition. It's not something God wants us to endure, but He knows we will. There's a famous poem called 'Footprints in the Sand' in which the poet writes about a dream of walking along the beach with God while thinking back over their life. The poet notices that at times of suffering, anguish, sorrow and defeat there is only one set of footprints. The poet says to God, 'You promised me Lord, that if I followed you, you would walk with me always. But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my life there have only been one set of footprints in the sand. Why, when I needed you most, have you not been there for me?' and God said to the poet, 'The times when you have seen only one set of footprints, is when I carried you.'"

"Do you believe that? That he carries you through the bad times?"

"He must," Dago answered. "I'm not strong enough to survive on my own."

We held each other's eyes for a long moment until I finally had to look away. Sometimes I truly hated how strong his faith was. "Come on, baby…let's go to bed."

Seville seemed to be more of a tourist trap than Malaga had been—despite the resort and golf course we'd stayed at. We'd taken the double-decker tour bus to the main sights of the city, walking around the various ancient structures, learning about the history, and visiting gift shops. I ended up buying several souvenirs for Mary and Karen, and even found something I thought Johnny might enjoy. Dago was amused by the gifts in the shops, but managed to leave empty-handed.

At the end of the day, we ended up opting for room service and spent the night in our room watching Spanish television and making love. At some point, Dago's head was on my chest, and he'd grown so still and quiet that I thought he'd fallen asleep until he took a deep breath and looked up at me.

"What would you like to do, Hawkeye?"

"What?" I wasn't sure what he was asking exactly.

"I picked coming to Spain, I made the itinerary…I know you got to golfing and we went to the bathhouse like you wanted, but what else do you want to do? And not just in Spain. After this…where do you want to go? What do you want to see? What do you want to do?"

"Dago, I told you it doesn't matter where we go or what we do. I just want to spend time with you."

"I know, but I'm worried about it getting monotonous."

"You worry too much." I smirked, kissing his forehead.

"No, I'm serious, Hawkeye." Dago argued, sitting up. "I love being with you, but doesn't it feel like all we do when we're alone is sleep and have sex?"

"No," I answered honestly. "Sure we have sex a lot, and then we fall asleep because we're worn out from having sex, but we do a lot more than that, Dago. We talk, we joke, we laugh…what more do you want?"

"It's not that I want more," he said slowly. "I just…Is this what a normal relationship is like?"

"Baby, there's nothing normal about our relationship." I laughed. He gave me a hurt look, so I quickly sobered and amended my statement. "What I mean is, if this was a normal relationship, we wouldn't be living on two different continents—hell, we wouldn't be living in two different houses. Right now, we're trying to make up for all the years we lost, so…yeah, the majority of what I want to do is have sex with you, but it's not about the sex, baby. It's about you; it's about me wanting to be with you."

"How would things be different if we lived together? We tried that, remember?"

"You didn't exactly stay that long, as I recall. But even then it was hard to have a very normal relationship. Look, Dago, you can ask Mary what it was like when I was in med school, or when I was doing my residency. When you don't have a lot of time, you just have to improvise. You have to figure out what it is you want the most."

"So, how would it be different now?" Dago asked again, resolute to get an answer.

I sighed and tried to think about what life would be like if Dago and I lived together again, but with Mary in the equation, it all still added up to an abnormal relationship. I settled for a simple answer. "We wouldn't be so rushed. We wouldn't be counting the seconds we had left together."

This seemed to placate him for the most part, but he was quiet only for a moment. "You didn't answer my question…what else do you want to do?"

I sat up and cupped his face, drawing him into a gentle kiss. "Just like I said, as long as I'm with you, babe, I don't care what we do or where we go. Everything I need and want is right here with me. The rest of it is just a bonus."

By the time we finished seeing all of Seville and headed on to our next destination, Dago had forgotten about his insecurities and had stopped worrying that I would somehow get bored with him. True, with him I seemed to live a milder lifestyle than I did whenever I was around Trapper or Duke, but Dago had always had that kind of effect on me. I didn't feel the need to be wild and crazy around him…maybe because what we were doing together was wild and crazy enough. The story of a wayward priest and his adulterous lover would have any number of tongues wagging, my own included.

"You should write a book," I suggested to Dago as we headed north to A Coruña.

"About what?"

"Your life."

Dago laughed, "I hardly think anyone would ever want to read about the exploits of my life."

"I would. Hell, I already have in your journals, but I want to see what you'd say about us."

"If I wrote a book like that, I could kiss whatever chance I had of becoming a saint goodbye," he said, looking at me ruefully. "Besides, I don't want the world to know about you, or Danny, or even Tseten. I shared my life with you because you're special to me…I would never open up about those things to a complete stranger."

"At least indulge me. If you did write about me, what would you say?"

"I don't know," Dago said thoughtfully, scratching his chin. "Can I think about it a while?"

"Don't think I'm going to forget and let you off the hook." I teased.

As we got closer to our destination, Dago instructed me on where to go according to his map and the directions given by Pancho until we finally ended up at the Hotel Riazor, right on the beach in A Coruña.*

Our room, again, had one of the best views of the beach and the ocean, and we could even see part of the historic district that sat on the small peninsula of land jutting out into the bay. We could also see storm clouds rolling in from over the ocean, threatening rain at any given moment.

Rather than venture a chance at getting caught in a downpour, I fished in my bag and pulled out a deck of cards, sitting at the small circular table in front of the window. Dago sat across from me as I shuffled the deck and dealt the cards out for a game of Gin Rummy.

"I think I'd write about how unlikely a pair we are," Dago said out of nowhere.

It took me a minute to figure out what he was talking about, then I remembered my question to him in the car. I had almost forgotten. "Unlikely how?"

He gave me an incredulous look and I smirked at him. He continued on without answer, "I'd probably write about when I first felt the attraction towards you. The unexpectedness of it and the fear that you'd somehow find out. I'd talk about how I tried so hard to avoid you, but you seemed to be everywhere, and you sought me out more and more. I'd write how I desperately wanted to be your friend, to be liked by you, but knew that my feelings for you would make me do something completely foolish. Then…one night…alone with you in the shower in a seemingly innocent situation where I'd forgotten my hand mirror, you offered to give me a shave. I can't say that I knew for certain you felt the same way about me, but…I took a chance, and kissed you. When you kissed me back, I was so overwhelmed…I remembered Danny and all the promises I made to myself and to God never to do that sort of thing again, but oh God…how I wanted you."

I was so mesmerized by Dago's account of that encounter that I'd stopped dealing the cards, and was listening to him with rapt interest. His eyes were out of focus and he wasn't looking at me, but I knew he was seeing me in a different light. He was seeing me the way he saw me twenty years ago, standing toe to toe with him in the shower. I didn't want to interrupt, but he'd stalled in his story, and I ached to hear him continue. "What did you do?" I asked in a soft voice.

A smile flitted across Dago's face and his eyes shifted downward as he blushed softly. "I think you know."

"I know what happened after I came to your tent," I countered. "I don't know what happened in the interim."

Dago licked his lips and flicked the corner of a card with his fingernail. "Well, I was completely mortified when Spearchucker walked in and nearly caught us. I was already feeling guilty and ashamed of taking advantage of you, but you stopped me before I could leave and asked to come to my tent, and my reply was automatic… I wanted you to come to my tent, I wanted to continue what we'd started, but when I left, I had no idea how I was going to. You know how often I struggled with my vows back then, Hawkeye. That night was certainly the hardest. Up to that point, I'd only ever been with Danny, and up to that point I'd sworn to God never to do it again. I went back and forth between wishing you'd come and hoping you wouldn't. At least if you didn't show up, it would make it easier for me to just forget it and act like nothing happened. I knew if you did come, I wouldn't be strong enough to tell you it had all been a mistake, or that I couldn't do whatever it was you wanted me to do. I don't think I loved you then…but I desired you more than anything in my life. When you knocked on my door…that desire overpowered all the shame, all the guilt, all the promises and vows… It overshadowed everything I was as a priest. All that mattered in that moment was how I felt about you."

"What did you think about while we were doing it?" I asked, truly curious.

Dago laughed. "Christ, Hawkeye, that was twenty two years ago. I don't remember."

"You can remember everything before and after that, but you can't remember what you were thinking while you were sucking my cock for the first time?"

"I'm sure it's not nearly as eloquent as you're hoping," he chuckled. "Honestly, I was so wrapped up in the moment and the pleasure and the fact that I wasn't dreaming what was happening, that there wasn't much else on my mind. I was too busy enjoying myself to have any real meaningful thoughts."

"What else would you write about us?"

Dago sighed, smiling as he looked at me. "How I quickly came to realize how very much I loved you. I'd never been in love before, but somehow I just knew that what I felt for you was love. As wonderful as being in love with you felt, it was also a huge burden on me. For one, you were married, with children. I was a priest. We were both men, in the army…so much was stacked up against the likelihood of anything ever coming out of our relationship. Not to mention the fact that I was fairly certain that while you were attracted to me, you probably didn't love me. I wrestled with all of this, and the guilt and shame continued. Not only had I broken my vows again, I'd broken His commandments. I was an abomination to Him. The thought that God might detest me was crippling, but I loved you too much to put an end to what we were doing. I knew that I was damning your soul right along with mine, and I prayed for God to forgive me."

I opened my mouth to rebuttal, to tell him he wasn't responsible for my soul, but he held up a hand to stay me.

"It was you that helped me come to terms with it, though." Dago said softly. "All the arguing we did about God, I realized that I felt guilty for breaking my vows, and I was ashamed of disappointing God…but I didn't feel wrong about us."

"Because you loved me."

He merely nodded, knowing we'd had that discussion before.

A flash of lightning outside caught our attention and we both looked out to see that the storm had finally rolled in. People were scrambling about outside as the sky opened up and the rain began to pour.

"What would you write, Hawk?" Dago asked as he turned his attention back to me.

"That it's been one hell of a ride with you. I don't know how I went from just noticing you, to becoming obsessed with you, to finally realizing I was completely infatuated and in love with you. You were my all consuming thought in Korea. All I wanted was to be with you—night and day. Everyone thought I was crazy. I honestly can't believe you and I never got caught."

"Well, to be fair, you said that Trapper had known all along."

"That's true. And Radar knew of course."

"Radar?" Dago asked in surprise.

"There isn't anything that went on in that camp that Radar didn't know, Dago."

He looked completely mortified, but all I could do was laugh.

We spent the afternoon verbalizing the chapters of the book that we would never actually write. Only the four walls of our hotel room would ever hear the story of our love affair, but somehow that was enough. There were people who knew of our relationship, but the intimate details and the private thoughts and struggles were ours to keep between us. I knew that once I did lose Dago, I would at least have the memory of this afternoon to look back on and hear his recount of our love over and over again. I would never forget it so long as I lived.

A Coruña was one of the most relaxing places Dago and I had been thus far. The rain hadn't lasted past that first day, and he and I spent much of the rest of our time on the beach picking up shells, soaking up a little sun, and even a fair amount of time in the water. The waves were perfect for body surfing and Dago had spent some time watching me ride the waves in from his spot on the shore. After a while, I saw him get up and—hesitantly—make his way towards me in the water, stopping when he was in up to mid-thigh.

"Teach me." He said as I came towards him.

I was surprised, but delighted by his request, and eagerly taught him how to crouch down and wait for the right moment to hop the wave. Though it took him several tries to figure it out, he finally caught a wave and let it carry him into the shore. He was laughing as he got to his feet, and I applauded him with gusto. We spent much of an afternoon playing in the surf until we dragged ourselves out onto the sand to dry under the sun.

"Is it safe to assume your fear of the ocean has been cured?" I asked as we lay on our towels.

Dago smiled, his eyes closed, but he shook his head. "Not completely. I still would like to avoid coming face-to-face with a man-eating shark, but I suppose as long as I don't venture out any further than we did today, I'll be alright."

Nights in A Coruña were spent in our hotel room. Dago and I would order room service—with fresh strawberries and champagne as dessert. We would eat, then bathe, then feed each other the sweet fruit as we sipped champagne before making love as many times (and in as many ways) as we could handle before finally lying in each other's arms in the dark with the curtain open so we could see the moonlit ocean. Though Dago had worried about this being boring to me, the nights with him were probably the most memorable experience of the entire trip.

Our last night in A Coruña was no exception to the others, but as we lay together in a state of post-coital bliss, I could feel Dago growing somewhat restless.

"What's the matter, baby?" I asked him, brushing my fingers through his hair as he laid against my chest.

"We've only got Madrid left," Dago answered with a melancholy tone. "I know I should be grateful for the time we do have together, Hawkeye…but I don't want this to end."

"The only thing that's ending is this trip, Dago," I told him. "We'll start planning the next one right away."

"It's the time between that I'm not looking forward to," he admitted. "I know we'll both be busy, but it's the nights I hate. I get so used to having you next to me…it's hard to adjust to not having you there."

As hard as it was for Dago, I couldn't help but feel that it was even harder for me. I knew I couldn't offer him any substantial comfort. I couldn't move to Rome, he couldn't move to Maine, and there was still the fact that no matter where I was, I was either leaving him or Mary hanging on the line. "I need a twin…or a clone."

He laughed softly but shook his head, "I'm not sure it would be the same as the real thing."

I sighed and kissed the top of his head, offering the only words I could. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize, Hawkeye," he murmured. "I know this has never been an ideal situation for either of us."

"Maybe not," I said after a moment of thought. "But at least neither of us has ever given up on it."

He raised his head and gave me an incredulous look. "Except for that small lapse of twenty years?"

"I refuse to acknowledge that any time has passed between then and now."

Dago laughed, his expression softening. "I love you, Benjamin Pierce."

"I love you, too, John Mulcahy."

Time seemed to be moving faster than normal as Dago and I made it to Madrid, and he seemed to be moving slower. I was worried that all the travel was too much on him, but he assured me that he was fine…just a little tired. We took Madrid at a slower pace than the other cities, seeing only the most famous historical markers and enjoying what the city had to offer in the way of culture and food and beer.

We spent an afternoon at the bullfights, though Dago seemed less than thrilled about the cruelty to the bull, and the Spaniards' desire to see bloodshed—be it the bull or the matador.

"This is barbaric," he muttered, shaking his head as we watched a bull slowly bleed to death in the arena from the multiple spear wounds on its body. The crowd was going wild around us. "Is it absolutely necessary to kill it?"

"It's the sport," I offered, feeling a small bit of empathy for the beast myself. "Better it be put to death than live in agony, having to go through this time and again. At least he only has to endure it once."

"It's still barbaric." Dago said distastefully.

On the last night of our Spanish vacation, Dago and I had a nice dinner at a popular restaurant, followed by a flamenco dance show. The dance itself didn't seem all that complicated, though it did seem to require a lot of passion and energy, and fast feet. The ladies dancing were both pretty and talented, which made it easy to stay interested, though I quietly likened it with having to sit through a ballet.

When we finally made it back to our hotel room, we were both longing to be in each other's arms, but not rush. Dago undressed me slowly, circling me and planting kisses all along my chest, shoulders and back the way he used to do in Korea. I felt myself slipping back in time with him, aching to be standing under that drab canvas cover of his tent. Maybe if we went back in time we could do things all over again, we could do it right, we could have another twenty years together. God, how things could have been different…

My eyes never left his as I lowered him to the bed, his hand pulling me down by the back of my head to kiss him. His lips were soft and warm, just as they had always been. He sighed contentedly as I entered him, holding me close to him and tangling one of his legs around mine. Though he said nothing, I could read his mind. He was begging God to stop time, to let us stay joined like this for eternity. I knew this because I was thinking the same thing.

I made love to him slowly, passionately. If I couldn't give him forever, at least I could give him as much time together as possible. Neither of spoke as we came…we simply wiped each other's tears, and held each other tightly. I kissed him again and again as we laid there together, unable—or unwilling—to stop until he finally laid his hand against my chest to stay me.

"I need a breath," he said sheepishly.

I grinned at him, but rolled off next to him, propping my head up on my elbow to look at him. "So, where and when are we meeting next, Dago?"

"I told you," he said rolling over to face me and mirroring my position. "You're picking."

"And I told you the where doesn't matter to me, babe. It's the when I'm more concerned about."

"When can you get away again?"

"I dunno…later this year, I'm sure. You should come spend Christmas with us, too."

"Hawkeye…" He started to protest, but I put a finger against his lips.

"Please, Dago."

He sighed softly, kissing my finger before pulling it away. "I'll try."

The next morning we set about getting ourselves presentable, packing our suitcases, and enjoying the breakfast brought up by room service. Our flights were just a couple of hours apart, so we planned to check out, return the car, and go to the airport together for our final goodbyes.

I expected Dago to be in a somber mood, as he typically was when it came to bidding each other farewell, but he was uncharacteristically chipper. "You're in a good mood."

"I've had a great vacation," he said simply, before meeting my eyes. "Why shouldn't I be in a good mood?"

By the time we made it to the airport, checked our bags, and received our boarding passes, there was time for little more than a quick drink in the airport lounge.

"I know you don't care where we go next, Hawkeye, but will you pick all the same?"

"If it will make you feel better, I will."

"It will." He nodded. "I know you think it's silly, but it does matter to me."

"Then I'll be sure to consider it carefully."

He smiled. "Thank you."

My flight was announced over the intercom and I sighed heavily as I tossed back the rest of my scotch. "I guess that's me, babe."

"I wish you didn't have to go," the somberness finally set in.

I wrapped my arms around Dago and hugged him tightly. "Me too. I'll miss you."

"So will I. You'll write, won't you?"

"Of course I will, and call when I can. Tell Pancho thanks for me."

"I will. Give Mary my best."

"Will do." I pulled him into a fierce kiss, brushing my thumbs along his jaw as he lightly sucked on my tongue.

"You better go," Dago whispered as he pulled back a little.

"I know," I said, pulling him back in for one more kiss. "See you soon, baby."

"Love you."

"Love you." I echoed, squeezing him tightly and releasing him as I picked up my carry-on and headed for the gate.

I ordered another scotch from the stewardess before we were even airborne, and stared out the small window next to me as I settled in for the long flight home.

It was late afternoon when the stewardess woke me up and informed me that we'd be landing soon, and asked me to fasten my seat belt. Though I hadn't slept the entire flight, I was surprised I'd managed to sleep the majority of it. I had driven myself to the airport and left my car in the lot, so I didn't have to worry about meeting anyone or waiting to be picked up. It had only been a matter of hours since I'd last seen Dago, but I already missed him. This was the part of our relationship I resented—the damn distance between us. Still, as much as I wished that I was with him, I was eager to get home to my wife.

I had barely walked through the front door of my house when Mary greeted me with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. "That was very nice of you, Hawkeye."

"Nice of you to say so," I smiled, drawing her into a proper kiss. "What was very nice of me?"

"Recommending Trapper John for membership in the Matthew Q. Framingham Theosophical Foundation."

"Oh, that." I gave her a curious look. "How did you find out about that?"

"A letter came."

"The Matthew Q. Framingham Theosophical Foundation wrote you a letter?"

"No, silly," Mary scoffed, slapping my chest. "They wrote you a letter."

"Which you, naturally, opened and read?"

"Naturally," she smirked, quite pleased with her snooping.

I could barely contain my own smirk. "I don't suppose it would be too much to ask if I could have a look at my letter?"

"Of course not. It is, after all, addressed to you." Mary preceded me into the living room, heading towards the Spinet piano along the far wall of the living room that I had bought for Karen when she was 12 and had been endeavoring to be the next Liberace. That dream, however, hadn't panned out beyond a few local piano recitals and years of having to listen to musical scales and metronomes.

I veered for the table containing a bottle of gin, a bottle of vermouth, a jar of olives, and a shaker and began making the perfect mixture for a martini. I could hear Mary's annoyed sigh behind me.

"Won't that wait?"

"It isn't every day that I hear from the Matthew Q. Framingham Theosophical Foundation," I told her. "Besides, I've just crossed several time zones and flown across an entire ocean to get home…I thought a small libation was called for." I told her as I speared two olives on the end of a tooth pick and dropped them into my drink. Mary waited until I'd taken the first sip before she handed me the letter.

The letter was pretty standard, thanking me for my nomination of Trapper to the foundation and reminding me that membership was dependent upon a probationary period at which the nominee would be considered an associate member and would be expected to contribute to the archives a scholarly treatise on philosophy, theology or science—the subject, of course, to be decided upon by the associate member and the Committee on Associate-Member Theses. The letter also gave me the authority to inform Trapper of his election to associate member status and to invite both of us to attend a special meeting to be held at the HQ in Cambridge, Massachusetts on the last Friday in August.

I handed the letter back to Mary and sipped my martini. "I'm glad he made it. You never can tell, until after the Membership Committee meets. Many are called, but few are chosen."

"When are you going to tell him?" She asked anxiously.

I checked my watched, noting that he would probably be home by now. "I think I'll call him right now. After I finish my drink, of course. And, I don't want you spreading this all over town, Gossiper Pierce. The foundation and its members prefer anonymity."

"I don't see why," Mary touted, crossing her arms in mock insult. "After all, membership in a foundation dedicated to the advancement of philosophy, science, and theology is something to be proud of.

"Modesty," I told her, taking another sip and heading to the couch. "Is the watchword."

Mary sat next to me and pulled her feet up under her as she leaned against me. "How was Spain?"

"Really nice. You would have liked it. I think all the sightseeing did Dago in, though. He was tired by the end of the trip."

"How is he?"

"I think he's okay," I said after a minute of consideration. "I think after all he's been through he'd tell me if something was wrong. At least, I hope he would."

"I miss him."

"Well, if all goes according to plan, you'll see him in December." I told her. "I invited him to spend Christmas here."

"Oh, that'll be wonderful, Hawkeye! I hope he will come."

"Did I miss anything while I was gone?"

"Not a thing," she smiled, leaning up to kiss me.

I finished my drink then headed off to make my call to Trapper. Before it even had a chance to ring a second time, it was answered by Trapper's young wife, Lucinda. Trapper and Evelyn had started going downhill not long before little Lucinda Lewis had started working as our receptionist at the Finestkind Clinic. I knew instantly that Trap liked Lucinda, and it was fairly obvious the feeling was mutual. From what I gathered, after a night of drunken lovemaking, Trapper had accidentally spoken Lucinda's name instead of his wife's and an all-out fight ensued that ended with Evelyn kicking Trapper out. He didn't even bother trying to fix his marriage, and instead began seeing Lucinda before the divorce papers were even signed.

"Lucinda," I said, speaking formally. "This is Dr. Pierce. May I speak with Dr. McIntyre, please?"

"Oh, thank you, Hawkeye!" Lucinda gushed suddenly. "I just can't wait till my mother finds out!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oops." Lucinda said meekly. "I forgot. I promised Mary I'd never let on that she told me."

I rolled my eyes at my wife's inability to keep anything under her proverbial hat. "May I speak with Dr. McIntyre?" I repeated, feigning sternness.

"Oh yes, of course," Lucinda answered, obviously embarrassed. As she pulled the phone from her ear, she bellowed for Trapper. The sound of her voice vibrated on my end of the line and I had to pluck the receiver off my ear to keep from going deaf. "Trapper! It's Hawkeye! He's going to make it official!"

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smirking as I waited for Trapper to get on the line.

"This is Dr. McIntyre," he said, feigning formality the same as I had. "With whom am I speaking?"

"Dr. McIntrye, this is Dr. Pierce."

"Ah, the famous Dr. Pierce. Just returned from Spain, is it?"

"Indeed, sir."

"And how did Spain find you?"

"Very well, sir."

"I trust your charge is doing well also?"

"He is indeed."

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your call, Dr. Pierce?"

"Doctor, it is my great personal pleasure to inform you that your nomination as an associate fellow of the Matthew Q. Framingham Foundation has been favorably acted upon by its Membership Committee."

"I hardly know what to say," Trapper feigned surprise. "It is a great honor, of course, simply to be nominated. I never dreamed that I would be accepted for membership the first time around."

"Well," I smirked, "standards are slipping all over these days."

"I beg your pardon?" Trapper sounded affronted. "You certainly do not mean to suggest, sir, that the high standards of the Matthew Q. Framingham Foundation have, in any way whatsoever, been compromised?"

"An unfortunate slip of the tongue, Doctor. I meant to imply nothing of the sort."

"Of course not, Doctor."

"So, how would you like to go to Cambridge next month for a special meeting of the Foundation?"

"A special meeting, you say?"

"Yes indeed. It's safe to say there will be a fair bit of conferencing going on." 'Conferencing' had been the term that Trapper and I had adopted to mean boozing and gambling. Most of the medical conferences we attended were always more about the card games than they were about any real issues.

"Well, I think I can pencil that in. When is this special meeting?"

"August 30th. We'll probably be there a few days."

"Well, that sounds mighty fine, Dr. Pierce. Thank you for your invitation. Can we expect you to be back in the office soon?"

"I believe I can make an appearance, yes."

"Very well, Doctor. I shall look forward to making your acquaintance."

Life and work resumed normally after that. I went back to work and waded through the surgeries that had been scheduled in my absence, playing golf with Trapper whenever we both had the same down town, and getting back in the habit of my Friday night poker games with Trapper, Duke, and Spearchucker. In between that and spending time with Mary and Johnny, I wrote to Dago.

I was fairly sure that he was busy back in Rome, as it took more time than it normally would have to get his first letter of reply, but he was fairly vague about what he'd been up to since Spain…not that I expected details on what being the Archbishop of Swengchan actually entailed for him. He did say, as expected, that he missed me and hoped I was doing well. He also asked if I'd given any thought to our next adventure…which I hadn't.

"How's John?" Mary asked as she came into the bedroom rubbing moisturizer on her face.

I folded his letter and set it on the bedside table. "He wants me to decide where we go to next. I don't have any idea where to take him."

"Take him to Paris," Mary suggested as she pulled back the covers and slid into the bed beside me. "You liked Paris, didn't you?"

"I liked it well enough, sure. It certainly would be interesting for him—art, history, museums…Dago can't get enough of that crap."

Mary gave me a stern look. "It isn't crap, Hawkeye. It's culture. Something you could use a little of."

"A few more trips with Dago and I'll have all the culture I can stand." I teased.

Mary hit me in the shoulder without even looking, turning out the lamp on her side of the bed. I knew that was the end to the conversation, and—ironically—it had helped me decide where we would go next. For once, I would have the upper hand over Dago. I'd been to Paris, he hadn't. Though I wasn't an expert, I knew the places to go and the hotel to stay at. My problem was solved.

At the end of August, Trapper and I hopped a plane to Massachusetts, and by nightfall found ourselves fully encased in a few beers and a good game of poker with Matthew Q. Framingham VI and the Honorable DeWitt L. Canady II, a former Vermont Supreme Court Justice, both of which were Senior Fellows of the Matthew Q. Framingham Theosophical Foundation like me.

We played well into the night, until some of us were down and others were up, and most of us were too drunk to know the difference. Trapper and I leaned on each other as we staggered to our room, fumbling with the key and snickering each time we missed the keyhole.

"I feel like I'm in college," Trapper chortled. "The only thing that's different is that it's you hanging off my arm instead of some hot broad."

"Are you saying I'm not attractive enough to take home?" I tittered.

"Are you kidding? There's only two people in the whole world crazy enough to fall for the likes of you—your wife and Dago Red."

"Crazy, or clever?"

Trapper finally managed to open the door, turning to look at me curiously for a minute, before nodding decisively. "Crazy."

Flopping onto one of the double beds, I couldn't wipe the grin off my face at the mention of Dago. I wondered what he was up to at that very moment and couldn't wait until our trip to Paris. We still hadn't hammered out the details of when we'd get away again, but I'd at least written to him and told him to brush up on his French.

Trapper stumbled into the bathroom and I rolled over and reached for the phone, dialing in Dago's number on the rotary phone and listening to it ring once, twice, a third time… I looked at my watch, noting that it was just before 2am. What time did that make it in Rome?

"Hello?" A sleep-addled voice answered.

"Hi baby."

"Hawkeye?" Dago said slowly, obviously trying to gather his wits. "It must be the middle of the night there, what are you doing? Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, Dago; I just wanted to call and hear your voice."

There was a slight pause. "Are you drunk?"

"Maybe a little," I confessed. "Trap and I are in Cambridge at a conference."

"Some conference," Dago lightly mocked.

"Sorry if I woke you. What time is it there?"

"A few minutes before 8 in the morning." Dago yawned. "I should be getting up soon anyways, so I'll just consider this an nice, albeit unexpected wake-up call."

"It's Saturday; what have you got to do?" I scoffed, having spent enough time with Dago to know that he generally tried to sleep in on Saturdays. "You should go back to bed."

"Mmm…" I could hear him stretching as he protested. "I'm already awake now. What's this conference you're at?"

"A special meeting of the Matthew Q. Framingham Theosophical Foundation. I nominated Trapper for membership and he's been accepted."

"Theosophical Foundation? What's that?"

"It's a club for high-class members of society—like myself."

Dago dissolved into laughter. "Come on, be serious."

"I _am_ being serious. I'll have you know that one of the senior members is a former Supreme Court justice."

"And what does this Foundation do, exactly?" He was trying to contain his mirth now.

"Mainly get together to gamble and drink," I admitted. "But we are legit. We do actually have functions were someone will present an article on philosophy, or theology or some other 'ology' and we have an archive of papers presented from members on various topics."

"Sounds intriguing." He quipped. "How long have you been a member of this organization?"

" _Senior_ member," I said self-importantly. "For a few years now. You know, I could nominate you too, if you want. I'm sure they'd love an archbishop in the ranks."

"Thank you; I'll consider the offer." He chortled.

"How've you been?" I asked; my tone softening as the conversation turned to a more intimate subject.

"Not bad, I suppose. Things have been kind of…tense…recently."

"Tense?" I suddenly felt more sober than I probably was. "Is everything okay?"

"Well, earlier this month—right after I got back, really—a terrorist group known as the Ordine Nuovo set off a bomb on a train headed from Rome to Munich. It killed about 12 people and injured a lot more. The group is claiming that they want to show the nation that they can place a bomb when they want and where they want. The Vatican is under high alert, of course, but we're all a little on edge."

"They could really bomb the Vatican?" My gut was knotting with worry.

"Should they manage to get through the extra security that we now have in place, I'm sure they could plant a bomb wherever they pleased."

"Sure you don't want to move to Crabapple Cove?"

Dago laughed. "It's a sorely tempting offer."

"You're always welcome," I said sincerely.

"I know," I could hear the smile in his voice. "And I appreciate it."

"Pancho, too, you know. I know you come as a set now."

He laughed at that. "I'll pass the offer along to him."

"Just be careful, okay?"

"Don't worry. I'm hardly venturing anywhere I don't need to right now. My apartment and my office are about the only places I've seen the last couple of weeks." He paused long enough to cough and clear his throat. "So when are we going to Paris?"

"When do you want to?"

"Well, I'd say 'now' but I haven't packed and you're drunk." He paused as I laughed. "Soon," was the only answer he gave me, though.

"That narrows it down," I teased. I heard the toilet flush and Trapper hock up the phlegm in his throat, signaling the end to my private moment with Dago. "I better get going, baby. I'll look at my schedule and let you know when would be best for me and hopefully we'll find a time that works for both of us."

"Alright. Get some sleep, and try not to drink the _entire_ weekend."

"I'll do my best. Sorry I woke you."

"It's okay. Goodnight, Hawkeye."

"Goodnight."

"Who was that?" Trapper asked as he emerged from the bathroom to see me hanging up the receiver.

"Dago. He said to tell you to stop drinking."

"He would." Trapper snorted as he fell face-first into the pillows on the other bed. He was probably unconscious half-way down to the mattress.

The next day found us in another grueling session, pitted against Framingham and Canady when the phone rang on the far side of the room. Matthew went to answer it and my ears pricked up as he informed the caller that I was in conference and couldn't take a call, followed by Trapper being in conference with me and also unable to come to the phone. He assured whoever was on the line that he would make sure one of us received the message and that he would inform us to call at our first opportunity. When he came back to the table, he dropped a chip into the pot and looked at me.

"Well, Hawkeye, it's twenty bucks to you. Fish or cut bait."

"Your twenty and twenty more," I bet, adding an extra chip.

"That's too rich for me," Trapper remarked, pushing his cards away.

"I'll call," Canady grouched. "I refuse to believe that he can be this lucky this long."

"That makes it twenty to you, Matthew," I said, swigging my beer. "Put up or shut up."

Matthew held my gaze for a long time, trying to determine whether or not I was bluffing before he ponied up another twenty dollars in chips. With all bets made, I turned my cards face up on the table.

"Read 'em and weep. Aces, three of them over queens. What they call a full house." I watched the expression of my three colleagues sour as I raked in my newly amassed fortune.

"That's enough for me," Trapper said. "Maybe you senior members are used to these high stakes, but I'm just a lowly associate-member. Not to mention we played until nearly 2am last night and it's barely after lunch now. Don't you guys ever stop to eat?"

"Yes," Canady nodded. "Dr. McIntyre is quite right. We should adjourn for a small recess."

"Who was that on the phone, Matthew?" I asked as I stacked my chips into neat piles.

"Oh, yeah… I almost forgot. That was your wife, Hawk."

"I've forbidden her to call here," I said curiously. "It must really be important."

"She said there was no _medical_ emergency," Matthew supplied.

"Why do you take calls at all?" Trapper asked the two other senior members.

"Otherwise, they might doubt that we're here," Canady said, raising a portly finger. "Hell hath no fury like a curious wife. I'm surprised you haven't learned that."

"I thought the first one was just defective," Trapper said, referring to Evelyn. "Lucinda and I have only been married for a few years now. She still buys all my crap."

"That won't last," Matthew foreshadowed.

"I suppose I better call her," I said, rising from the table. "Just to let her know that I'm here, of course."

I made my way out into the hallway where a line of phone cubicles stood for private calls and got the operator to connect me with Mary. "I'll have you know, I was in serious conference with Trapper and the Honorable Justice Canady when you called."

"Oh, shut up and listen," Mary said, effectively ruining my attempt to sound disturbed. "Radar is here."

"Radar? As in Radar O'Reilly?" I was surprised by that revelation. The last I'd seen Radar had been just over a year ago when Trapper and I had gone to Paris to perform surgery on some Russian opera singer's adenoids—thanks to our connection with the TA&VD society. Radar had been there on business, and—from what I remembered—had fallen pretty hard for the sister of the singer we'd operated on. She also happened to be an opera singer, and quite attractive. "What's he doing in Crabapple Cove?"

"Looking for you, apparently. He's getting married."

"Married?" I blanched, surprise going straight to shock. "Radar?"

"Hawkeye," Mary warned, then continued sweetly. "Her name is Kristina Korsky-Rim…Rim.."

"Rimsakov?"

"How'd you know?"

"Trap and I met her in Paris. We were the ones who helped Radar hook up with her. Her brother was the kid we operated on there."

"Small world." Mary didn't sound impressed. "Well, anyways, they're hoping to get married as soon as possible. In Las Vegas. And they've asked us to come. Trapper and Lucinda too."

"How soon is soon?"

"How soon can you be home?"

"Seriously? What's the rush?"

I heard Mary sigh in annoyance. "I'm _planning_ the wedding, Hawkeye. Kristina asked for my help and I'm trying to work on the arrangements, but they're staying with us and I need you here to keep Radar busy—"

"While you do the girly stuff, I get it. I'll tell them that we've got a small situation at home that requires our presence, and Trap and I will be there as soon as we can get a flight out."

"I knew there was a reason I loved you." She said, triumphantly.

"Yeah, well, you owe me." I said, and hung up.

My three cohorts were busy eating lunch that had just been served as I made my reentry. Trapper was leaning against the windowsill chomping on his club sandwich as I addressed him. "Trapper, I want you to brace yourself."

He looked at me curiously and I reconsidered my approach.

"Perhaps you better sit down." I told him as I led him towards a chair.

"Not bad news, I hope, Hawkeye!" Canady exclaimed at my theatrics.

"The worst, I'm afraid… Trapper, I must tell you that Radar and Kristina are going to get married."

Trapper looked mortally wounded. "I saw it coming…I guess I just didn't want to believe it, but I saw it coming."

"I think we both did."

"When does the deed take place?"

"Just as soon as possible, I'm afraid. And they're doing whole vulgar ritual, as I understand it. Mary's planning it, so you know it'll be a big hoopla. In Las Vegas, no less."

"Las Vegas?" Trapper asked. "Why Vegas?"

"I was so shaken, I didn't think to ask." I answered. "Probably something to do with the reception. When somebody like Radar finally takes the plunge, he often goes off the deep end."

Trapper and I packed up our belongings, cashed in our chips, and managed to sweet talk the woman working the flight reservations into the last two first class tickets on the next flight to Maine at a special "surgeon's discount." We claimed there was a medical emergency that required our immediate attention and that her denying us the tickets might cost a young man his life. She was, of course, more than happy to oblige us.

"Maybe there's still time," Trapper said as we fastened our seatbelts. "Maybe we can talk him out of getting married. Look at me… I made that mistake twice. Hasn't done me any favors."

"I fear it may be too late, my friend." I replied. "They've enlisted the help of my wife, who will no doubt soon be enlisting the help of yours, at which time, dear Radar shall be royally screwed."

TBC

Note: I could not find a date for when the Hotel Riazor was built, but according to online reviews it was in need of some renovation, so for the purpose of this story I'm going to assume it's been there since at least 1974.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulcahy's POV.
> 
> Some scenes of this chapter reflect the plot of M*A*S*H Goes to Las Vegas, written by Richard Hooker and William E. Butterworth (1976). Some character dialogue has been directly quoted. No copyright infringement intended.

"John, I don't want to worry you, but I'd like you to go see a cardiologist."

"A cardiologist?" I looked up from buttoning my shirt towards my doctor in surprise at the request.

"It could be nothing," he said holding up his hands. "But all the same, I think it's a good idea. Your blood pressure is still much higher than I would like it to be, and there seems to be a slight irregularity to your heart beat. Have you been experiencing any shortness of breath? Dizziness? Nausea? Chest pains?"

"I still have a hard time not feeling short of breath or tired, but the only thing that's really been bothering me lately is I seem to cough a lot at night and just after I wake up."

"I've got someone I'll refer you to," he told me. "I don't want you to sit on this too long."

The doctor's request followed by his urgency that I not wait to see the specialist certainly did nothing to alleviate any concerns I had. I'd barely been home two weeks from my trip with Hawkeye, and had gone to him just for a routine checkup. I hadn't been worried until now. I thought about calling Hawkeye for his opinion on the matter, but there was little point in making him worry when it really could be nothing at all.

I called the specialist as soon as I was back at my office and made the appointment, but it would be a few days before he could get me in. I wasn't looking forward to the wait, with the knowledge that something else might now be wrong with me weighing heavily on my mind. I didn't want to tell anyone anything until I knew for sure, but I could tell that Pancho sensed my anxiety.

Every time I took a breath, I was hyperaware of how my chest felt. Was it tight? Did I feel dizzy? Could I feel my heart beating irregularly? What did it all mean? What would happen to me? What was the cardiologist going to say? The anticipation of it was overwhelming and I felt as though I'd hardly even slept the two nights before my appointment.

I went alone to see the cardiologist, telling Pancho that I had an appointment, but not specifying where. After a long series of tests, x-rays and monitoring, I was finally given the news.

"The EKG does show a slight arrhythmia that we call tachycardia, or a rapid heartbeat. I'll need to run further tests, of course, but my guess is that your body is working in overtime to compensate for reduction in oxygen. That could be what's causing your high blood pressure, which in turn is pumping too much blood into your heart and your heart is trying to pump faster to compensate."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Oh, there are plenty of options," the doctor told me. "The problem is determining the extent of the damage done, and figuring out the best treatment. I have two concerns at this point…One is the shortness of breath you're experiencing and the nighttime cough. These are indicative of fluid leaking into your lung. Two is the rapid heartbeat. If we can't get it under control, it will lead to more serious complications."

The doctor and I talked for a while longer, scheduling more appointments for further tests to figure out an appropriate treatment plan. He assured me that, though this was serious, he was certain that we caught it early enough for treatment to be effective. His assurance, however, didn't placate me and I lost more sleep as I worried whether or not to tell Hawkeye. I knew he'd want to know, but I hated to worry him with this. There was nothing he could do from Maine and he had his own patients to worry about.

When my phone rang unexpectedly on a Saturday morning—following another full day of heart and lung exams—I fully expected it to be my cardiologist with dooming news.

"Hello?"

"Hi baby."

That seemed like a strange way for a doctor to greet a patient, but the familiar voice I heard wasn't Dr. Goodgame's. "Hawkeye? It must be the middle of the night there, what are you doing? Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, Dago; I just wanted to call and hear your voice." I could hear that happier-than-usual lilt and slur that often accompanied a session of heavy drinking.

"Are you drunk?"

Of course he was. He told me about the conference he and Trapper were at, and asked how I was. I wanted to tell him about the visits with the cardiologist, but instead I'd simply told him about a recent bombing that had everyone on edge. When he asked me when I wanted to go to Paris, the only answer I could come up with was, "Soon."

If I hadn't already felt like time with Hawkeye was precious, the new health concerns certainly made me aware of that fact. I wasn't willing to sacrifice any more time with him than was absolutely necessary.

It was Sunday afternoon when my phone rang again, and this time I expected it to be Hawkeye calling to verify that he had called me the previous morning when he'd been drunk, but as I answered, it wasn't Hawkeye's voice that came through the line this time.

"Father Mulcahy?"

"Yes?" There were very few people who still referred to me as Father Mulcahy.

"Gee, it's really you. This is Corporal O'Reilly, sir; from the 4077th."

I laughed, shocked by the call from someone I hadn't seen since Korea. "How are you, Radar?"

"I'm doing really swell, thanks! Listen, I asked Hawkeye if he knew where to reach you and he gave me your telephone number, so I hope it's alright that I'm calling."

"It's perfectly fine, Radar; what can I do for you?"

"Well, do you remember before I left Korea I asked if you might someday—you know, if I met the right girl and all—if you would marry us?"

"I do."

"Well, you see, Father…I've met someone. And we're planning on getting married in Las Vegas. And I was hoping you might perform the wedding if it's not too much trouble. I know you must be busy, being an archbishop and all."

A wedding seemed like a perfect distraction from my health issues. "I'd be delighted to, Radar. What kind of ceremony are you and the bride-to-be hoping to have?"

"Well, she really wants a traditional wedding. She's from Russia, you see, and her whole family is Catholic."

"And what about you? I seem to remember you were raised Methodist?"

"Oh, yeah… I was, but I've been a practicing Buddhist for a while now. That won't be a problem, will it?"

"I don't see why not. One of my dearest friends was a Buddhist monk. When is the happy day set to occur?"

There was a slight pause. "Would it be too much to ask for you to come to Las Vegas in a couple of days?"

"A couple of days?" I laughed. "Well, it might be a little difficult to arrange a flight—"

"Transportation won't be a problem," Radar cut in. "Do you remember Horsey Chevaux? He was a wounded soldier that Hawkeye operated on?"

"Oh, I remember Horsey quite well. I saw him just earlier this actually. Why?"

"Well, Kristina—that's my fiancée—her brother was in the same platoon as Horsey, they're good pals. As a wedding present, Horsey has offered for us to use some of his jets to fly everyone in."

"That's quite nice of him," I smiled fondly.

"Hawkeye's wife is helping us plan everything, and when I mentioned that I'd sure like you to preside over it, that's when Hawkeye said I should call you."

"So it's safe to assume Hawkeye will be attending the wedding?" If he was, that was all the more reason to say yes to Radar.

"Hawkeye, Trapper, and even some of the others from the 4077th."

"Radar, you make sure the plane gets here and I'll make sure to get on it." I told him.

"Really! Oh gee that's swell! Thank you, Father!"

"I will, of course, need to bring my assistant with me."

"Whoever you need, Father."

"And Radar…congratulations."

Two days later I was packing the last of my vestments and clothing into a small black suitcase while I was waiting for Pancho to come pick me up and take us to the airport. I was anxious about seeing old friends, but even more anxious about telling Hawkeye that I'd been to a cardiologist. I truly didn't want him to worry, but I knew that he would quickly see right through me if I tried to pretend that nothing was wrong.

The knock at the door wasn't unexpected and I called down the hallway from the bedroom, "Come on in, Pancho; I'm nearly packed. Be a good guy and bring me a beer, will you? There's a couple of bottles in the refrigerator."

"I'm afraid that I don't know where your refrigerator is, John."

I felt myself stiffen in shock and spun around to see His Holiness, The Pope standing in my bedroom doorway. "Your Holi—"

"Ah, don't start with that again," he laughed, waving me off as I moved towards him. "I'm here unofficially, John. I just wanted to see you before you left. You did say you had a couple of beers? Perhaps you would be good enough to share one with me?"

"Of course, Father." I rushed to the kitchen and pulled out two American beers and brought them back to the bedroom, where the Pope was now seated on my neatly made bed.

"I believe the proper American expression is 'mud in your ear?'"

"Mud in your eye, actually." I said as he took a sip.

"Interesting," he said, inspecting the bottle and seeing that it was different from the brand he'd had on his previous visit to my apartment. "I don't believe I've ever seen this kind of beer before."

"A friend from the states," I told him as I looked at my own bottle of Fenstermacher's Finest Ole Creole Pale Pilsner. "He keeps sending me cases of different kinds of American beer. More than I can drink really."

"That would be Jean-Pierre de la Chevaux?"

"Yes, Father, it would." His ability to know things never ceased to astound me.

"The same man whose airplane sits at the airfield waiting to fly you to Nevada?"

"Yes, Father, the same man." I almost felt the need to defend Horsey to the Pope. "He's a good, Catholic man."

"So the Archbishop of New Orleans informs me," he smiled. "A good, Catholic man. A little out of the ordinary, perhaps, but a good man."

The Pope took another pull on his bottle, then pinned me with a look.

"Enough of this beating around the bush, John. I'm here because some very disturbing rumors have reached my ears that you are to perform the honors at some sort of pagan marriage rite in a gambling den. Is there any truth to this?"

"No, sir," I said righteously. "I am going to be performing a wedding. It will be a realization of a promise I made to the bridegroom in Korea."

"She is a Catholic then?"

"The bride is Eastern Orthodox Catholic," I told him. "She's of Russian extraction. I do have the necessary permission from the Russian Orthodox Primate."

"How is Vasily these days?" The pope asked. "I haven't seen in him quite some time."

"He asked, when I had lunch with him earlier today, should I have the honor of seeing you, that I pass on his best regards."

"Is he still drinking that awful vodka straight?"

"I'm afraid so, Father," I chuckled.

"Let's get back to this wedding…She's Orthodox. What is the bridgegroom?"

"As a matter of fact, he told me that he has been a practicing Buddhist for some years."

The Pope gave me a stern look, "There is such a thing as taking this ecumenical business too far, John. You know how I feel about that."

While I personally had no qualms about interfaith marriages, or the Buddhist religion, I knew that the Catholic church frowned on such things. To have an archbishop perform such a ceremony was a scandal, no doubt. I knew I needed to placate His Holiness if he was going to allow me to perform the ceremony. "I feel that his backsliding is temporary, Father, and that after he has been influenced by this good woman, he will come into our fold."

"If she is a good woman, then why is she marrying this self-professed heathen?"

I had to keep my tongue in check at the insult towards Radar, and all Buddhists. "For many reasons, I'm sure. Among them, a desire to see him return to the church."

I had no real reason to believe that, no evidence to support it, but I hoped the Pope believed in it enough not to question it further. He seemed to mull the thought in his head for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay. It's your ball game, John. I mean, if I can't trust the good judgment of an archbishop, who should I trust?"

I felt a stab of guilt. "Thank you, Father. I will try to justify your confidences in me."

"Now, on a more personal note…I have it on good authority you have been seeing a heart doctor. Is there anything wrong?"

I told the Pope about the concerns of my high blood pressure and fast, irregular heartbeat, but that as of yet no treatment plans had been made. I could see the worry lines etching his face and he laid his hand on my shoulder.

"Are you sure you should be traveling in such a condition?"

"I think, under the circumstances," I said. "That this will be a welcome distraction, Father. I have not seen many of the wedding guests in over 20 years…if my condition becomes more serious, I'm afraid I won't have the opportunity to see them again."

"God watch over you, John." He said gently.

Once Pancho had arrived and everything was loaded in the car, I felt good again. I was happy to be getting away—yet again—from Church business and doctors and tests and terrorist threats against the nation. I wanted to be with friends and with Hawkeye, even if it was going to be a brief visit. It was a happy occasion; I needed this.

Our car was waved onto the tarmac near the waiting Boeing 747 with the words Chevaux Petroleum Number Seven painted on the side. Several of the crew were standing at attention as Pancho and I got out of the car and saluted us on order.

"Hiya, fellas." I beamed, amused by the show of respect that I was sure was Horsey's doing. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting."

"Fall out!" A man called to crew and six members raced over to Pancho's Fiat, three men on each bumper. On the order, they lifted the small car and effortlessly carried it up the loading ramp of the plane. The man who had given the order approached me, and I could see by his attire that he was the commander of this little outfit. He reached out and shook my hand. "How are you, Padre?"

Another man approached Pancho and I carrying purple and yellow nylon flight jackets. I looked over the jacket that had been handed to me, seeing CAJUN AIR FORCE emblazoned on the back, above which OFFICIAL CHAPLAIN had been embroidered. On the front, over the right breast a set of silver wings was pinned under the embroidering of DAGO RED. Pancho held a similar jacket which named him as PANCHO VILLA, the OFFICAL CHAPLAIN'S ASSISTANT.

"Welcome to the Cajun Air Force," the commander said, saluting us. I handed my jacket to Pancho as I shrugged out of my black clerical suit jacket, then proudly donned the jacket of the Cajun Air Force. Pancho followed suit, holding on to our suit jackets as the commander led us to the jet. "Let me show you around."

He gave us a quick tour of the modified plane, showing Pancho were he could sit back and relax during the flight, before he turned to me. "How would you like to learn how to fly, Padre?"

I'd always wanted to learn how to fly a plane, but now hardly seemed like the time for a crash course. Still, I wasn't sure I'd ever have another chance… "If you get it off the ground, I'll steer."

"Whatever you say, Padre." He said as he clapped me on the shoulder and led me to the cockpit.

Once we were in the air, the commander relinquished all flight controls to me. Though I was curious to learn what all the switches, levers, gauges and buttons were for, he only showed me the ones that were necessary to keep the plane up and going to its destination. He taught me how to read the airspeed and altitude gauges, and showed me the thrust levers for each of the plane's engines—forward for more power, back for less.

"Once you're up," he told me, "All you have to worry about is your axis' of movement—pitch, roll and yaw. Yaw will move you left or right by the rudder. Pitch is going to be whether her nose is pointed up or down. And roll is—I'm sure you can imagine—how much you dip the wings. You know what a barrel roll is?"

"Please tell me we're not going to do that in this." I asked with trepidation.

He laughed but shook his head. "I don't think Horsey would care for me turning this baby on her back."

Once he'd shown me how to control all three axis', he told me to fly us to Vegas while he navigated to make sure that we stayed on course.

Landing was another unique experience, as the commander instructed me to help him "put her down." He told me to put deploy the landing gear, lower the flaps on the wings, and apply the air brake, telling me which switches to flip. He then guided me on setting the back wheels down first before bringing the nose down and throttling down before applying the brakes to bring the plane to a stop.

As he taxied us towards our final stop, I could feel my heart racing. "Did I really just land a jumbo jet?"

"That you did, Padre. And you did a mighty fine job."

He saluted me and Pancho and I disembarked. "It was a pleasure flying with you; thanks for the flight lesson."

"Pleasure was all mine, Padre. We'll pick you up in a few days and I'll teach you how to get her off the ground." We shook hands and the crew carried our bags off the plane, leaving the Fiat in the loading bay. Pancho and I changed back into our suit jackets and he tucked our flight jackets into one of the bags.

"John!" A woman's voice called out from some distance away and I turned to see a woman in purple bellbottoms and a gray blouse with a large collar waving at me. Despite the distance, I instantly recognized her and made my way towards her.

"Mary!" I exclaimed, finally reaching her and wrapping my arms tightly around her. "It's so good to see."

"Oh, John, I've missed you so. I was thrilled when Radar told me you'd agreed to do the wedding."

"Speaking of the bridegroom," I said, looking about. "Where is he?"

"With Hawkeye," Mary said, rolling her eyes dramatically. "I'll give you three guesses where that would be."

I couldn't help but laugh and she smiled brightly before leading us out to a waiting limousine. "Radar certainly isn't sparing any expenses."

"He really isn't," Mary said. "But he's so filthy rich this is probably all just chump change to him."

"Where'd he get his wealth from? Last I saw Radar he was a poor farm boy from Ottumwa, Iowa."

"He apparently became a short-order cook for a time to help pay some of the bills on the farm, and ended up opening a small restaurant called Mother O'Reilly's Irish Stew Parlour. He used his mother's original Irish stew recipe for the house special, and of course named the establishment after her. It was so successful that he now owns several of these establishments world-wide. He's always looking for new ingredients to use in his stews, so he's traveled all over the place. He doesn't run the restaurants himself now, instead he's in charge of the ROR Corporation."

"Impressive."

Mary sighed forlornly. "And here I am, married to a man who runs the Finestkind Clinic and Fishmarket. I envy Kristina…"

When we got to the hotel, Mary got our room key from the front desk—offering us a two-bedroom suite on the same floor that Hawkeye, Trapper and Radar were staying. The women, she informed us, would be a few floors up. She also told us that most of the guests wouldn't be arriving until tomorrow and that the wedding was scheduled for the following afternoon.

"As soon as Kristina and I can get Radar away from Hawkeye, I'm sure we'll be coming to find you to talk about the ceremony."

"That sounds fine. Pancho and I will take our things to the room and we might order up a bit of lunch, but we won't wander too far if we venture out."

Mary smiled sweetly. "I'll tell Hawkeye you're here, John."

It seemed like we'd only just gotten to the room and put our bags down that there was a knock at the door. Pancho moved to answer it before I could take a single step forward, but I could see Hawkeye leaning against the doorjamb with his hands in his pockets. His eyes swept across the room towards me and he gave me a sideways smirk.

"Is there anything you need, Your Eminence?" I knew Pancho was graciously excusing himself in order to give Hawkeye and me a moment alone.

"No, thank you, Pancho."

"Trapper and Radar are cleaning up at the craps tables," Hawkeye said, flipping what looked like a $50 chip at Pancho. "Go have a bit of fun."

"Thank you, Hawkeye." Pancho gave us both a half bow, then slipped out of the room as Hawkeye slipped inside.

"You'll never guess what I did on the way here," I told him as we crossed the room towards each other.

"Joined the mile high club?" He asked with a smirk.

"Flew the plane." I told him. His look of surprise was laughable. "Not alone, of course, but the pilot taught me the basics. I even landed it with his help."

"Christ, it's a wonder you all made it here in one piece," he teased, rolling his eyes playfully before he pulled me into his arms and kissed me passionately. "I think I miss you more and more every time I see you."

"Me too," I told him as his hands ran underneath my suit jacket and started pushing it off. My anxiety over telling him about my new health problems suddenly surged and I grabbed his hands. "Hawkeye…there's something I need to tell you."

He pulled back, looking at me curiously. I could feel the strange pitter-patter of my quickly beating heart as I looked back at him, trying to find the words. "What's the matter, babe? Are you okay?"

Another knock on the door made me sigh in relieved frustration and I left Hawkeye standing in the middle of the floor as I went to answer it. In the hallway stood a short, balding man with large glasses, a beautiful blonde woman, and Mary. I knew immediately this must be Radar and his bride-to-be.

"Radar," I smiled, holding out my hand to greet him. "It's great to see you again."

"Father, thank you for coming. This means so much to both of us. This is Kristina Korsky-Rimsakov, my fiancée."

"It's very nice to meet you, my dear. Won't you please come in? Hawkeye had just stopped by to say hello."

"We can come back if we're interrupting something, Father," Radar offered knowingly.

I felt myself turning red. "No, not at all, Radar. Please…have a seat."

I could see Hawkeye trying to stifle a laugh as he came over and clapped me on the shoulder. "Looks like you'll have your hands full for a while. I'll help Trap entertain Pancho while you're busy."

"Thanks…" I said softly, truly sad that our time was cut short, but also glad that I didn't have to drag him down in the dumps with my news just yet. Once he'd left, the four of us set about discussing the ceremony in great detail as the couple decided which parts of the ceremony they wanted to keep traditional, and which parts they wanted to change up. After two hours of consulting, both parties were finally happy with the plan we'd made.

As I showed the young couple out, Mary stayed seated in the sitting room, waiting until I rejoined her before she spoke. "Are you alright, John?"

"Of course," I laughed nervously. "Why do you ask?"

"You just seem…I dunno…Worried."

I felt a little unnerved, wondering how much of my public mask was slipping. Mary seemed to sense what I was feeling and she moved to sit next to me on the couch, taking my hand.

"I know you and I haven't spoken for some time, John, but I've always considered you a dear friend. We've all been worried about you since learning of the cancer earlier this year. If something is wrong…you can tell me. You have my complete confidence not to go to Hawkeye unless you want me to."

"It's not that I'm worried about you telling him," I sighed. "I'm just afraid of how he might react to the news."

"So something is wrong, then."

"At my check up a few weeks ago, the doctor told me he wanted me to see a cardiologist. Over the last couple of weeks, I've been going for tests nearly every day to find out exactly what's wrong and what the prognosis is. Apparently losing a lung is not agreeing with my body and it's putting a strain on…well, everything. My blood pressure is high which is making my heart try and pump faster, but it can't keep up, and fluid is now leaking into my lung, they think."

Mary closed her eyes and squeezed my hand.

"The problem is that if they put me on blood pressure medication, it may take a while for it to be effective. Meanwhile, my heart doesn't know what to do with all the extra blood collecting there and they're afraid that the blood may start to clot which could give me a stroke or a heart attack. They could also put me on a medication that would help regulate my heartbeat, but again…the extra blood is a concern. And, of course, there's still the factor of the fluid in my lungs."

Mary sighed and pulled me into a hug. "It's unfair that all of this is happening to you, John. You're a wonderful, kind person…you deserve better. Do you want me to tell him?"

"No," I said with a long sigh. "I'll tell him."

I didn't see Hawkeye again until later that afternoon when he and Trapper escorted Pancho back to my room. Mary had stayed with me for quite some time, and we'd ordered lunch from room service and spent the time catching up on everything in our lives. She told me about all the children in greater detail than Hawkeye had, and talked about life in Crabapple Cove and how the four doctors of the Finestkind Clinic had turned tiny Spruce Harbor upside down.

Now, with Hawkeye and Trapper, the conversation in the room revolved around how my assistant had just won several hundred dollars at the craps table. Pancho had the decency to look abashed, though I could see the smug smile quietly pulling at the corners of his lips. Good for him, I thought to myself.

"You alright, Red?" Trapper asked, looking at me curiously. The mask was slipping again.

I sighed softly and shook my head. "Listen…there's something I need to talk to you boys about. Something…well, something quite serious, I'm afraid."

Hawkeye sat forward in the chair, looking at me with concern. "What's the matter, Dago?"

"Well, you see…there's a problem." I couldn't meet either of their eyes. "With my heart."

I could have heard a pin drop in the silence that ensued and I closed my eyes as I hurried on to tell them everything the doctors in Rome had told me. When I finally finished, Trapper was pacing the room, rubbing his forehead and Hawkeye had his head in his hands. I felt immensely terrible for dropping such a bomb on them during such a celebratory time, but was there ever a good time for this kind of news? I looked to Pancho, who was seated next to me and he laid his hand on my shoulder comfortingly.

"Those guys in Rome are idiots," Trapper finally said, slamming his fist into his palm indignantly and making Hawkeye raise his head hopefully.

"Think you got something, Trap?"

"It's simple. The root of the problem is oxygen." Trapper said, sitting back down across from me. "How long were you a smoker, Dago?"

"Pretty much right up until I found out I had cancer," I admitted.

"Smoking causes blood vessels to narrow and also reduces the blood's oxygen content to the heart, which makes it beat faster. You've probably been dealing with hypertension for a while. When you lost a lung, though, you cut even more of your oxygen supply. It usually takes some time for the body to compensate and for the remaining lung to build up strength to carry out the job of both lungs. For some reason, your lung hasn't stepped up to the plate and started doing double duty, and I'm willing to bet it's because there isn't enough oxygen reaching it. What's that sound like to you, Hawk?"

I could see a strange look of understanding dawning on Hawkeye's face. "Bronchopleural fistula."

"Exactly."

"Broncho-what?" I asked.

"It's an air leak to your lung," Hawkeye told me. "It can happen after a pneumonectomy…. Fuck. I should have done more x-rays…I should have paid closer attention."

"Might not have developed until later, Hawk. It can happen, you know." Trapper said, gently.

"Is it fixable?"

"It won't be pleasant," Hawkeye told me. "But we can fix it if you can spare a few more days and come with us to the Clinic."

"What about my high blood pressure and the heart condition?"

"Those aren't going to be easy fixes," Trapper said. "But once we fix your fistula, then your body won't be so oxygen deprived and won't be working in overdrive, so they can treat both conditions at the same time."

Hawkeye stood up and pulled me up off the couch and into a fierce hug, looking absolutely devastated. "I'm sorry, Dago…I should have known…I should have caught it."

"You're not with me every day, Hawk," I said quietly, not having blamed him for even a second.

"Still…" He said brokenly. "I could have killed you. It's hard enough to recover from this thing…now this…"

"Hawkeye," I pushed him back by his shoulders so I could look in his eyes. "It isn't your fault. I just thank God I'm friends with two doctors who have some kind of solution."

"I can't lose you, Dago." Hawkeye said in barely more than a whisper, his eyes wet with unshed tears of sorrow and remorse. I flicked my gaze towards Trapper who was still standing there, trying to pretend he wasn't watching the two of us. I was well aware of his and Pancho's presence as I looked back at Hawkeye, cupping his face as I pulled him into a fierce kiss.

I didn't look at either of the men in the room with us as I pulled away, resting my forehead against Hawkeye's. "I love you."

Though Hawkeye tried to spend the rest of the time in Vegas as if nothing was wrong, his anxiety was palpable to me. He'd stayed with me that night, laying his head on my chest to listen to my heart beat. He offered to postpone our trip to Paris until all medical concerns were handled, but I begged him not to.

"As little as we get to see each other, Hawk…I don't care what condition I'm in, I don't want to postpone my time with you."

As the next day wore on, Hawkeye was by my side every second of it. I almost felt like he was just waiting for me to drop dead at any given moment, and that was doing nothing to improve my level of stress. I'd already warned him twice about smothering me, but whether it was because he couldn't or because he wouldn't, Hawkeye never stayed gone more than a couple of minutes. I did finally have the distraction of mingling with other people as Colonel Henry Blake, Walt Waldowski, and Margaret O'Houlihan arrived at the hotel. Though everyone had aged since Korea, I was still painfully aware that I was the oldest of all of them, and probably the closest to death. I managed to escape Hawkeye's constant vigilance and wandered off to the bar with Henry and Margaret.

Margaret informed us that she'd been married—three times—and divorced twice. Her third husband, a reverend, had recently passed away leaving her as Reverend Mother of the God Is Love in All Forms Christian Church, whose "founding disciples" included an artist, two hairdressers, a writer, two ballet dancers, a male model, an interior decorator, an antique dealer and the quarterback and two defensive linemen of the San Francisco Gladiators football team. The only woman, she added, was the antique dealer.

Henry had stayed in the army after Korea and had made full bird colonel during Vietnam, where he'd been stationed at another MASH unit. After serving in two wars, Henry retired and became a football coach in his hometown. His most recent accomplishment was becoming a grandfather.

I filled them in on the accomplishments of my life—about being a pioneer in the mission to Nepal and becoming the Archbishop of Swengchan, China. While the highlights of my life were short and sweet, I neglected to tell them about the recent health challenges I'd faced. No need to bring everyone down…

Hawkeye found us a short time later to inform us that we were all invited to dinner at one of the finest restaurants in Las Vegas to celebrate the union of Radar and Kristina. The dinner was lovely—if but expensive—and it was nice to have the chance to catch up with everyone, but by the time we all made it back to the hotel and half of the party took to the casino while the other half took to the bar, I was ready to take to my bed.

"I'll come stay with you," Hawkeye offered.

"Come later," I told him. "Stay down here with Radar and the boys and have fun. Just don't do whatever it is you and Trapper planned to do."

"What's that?"

"I don't know, but I know the two of you well enough to know that you've got something up your sleeve by way of a bachelor party."

Hawkeye grinned at me before sobering. "You sure you don't want me to come up now?"

"I need some time alone. I have to write a final draft of the ceremony anyways. Come up later if you want."

He hadn't come up by the time I laid down to sleep at 11:45, but I felt the mattress shift beside me and a body warmly press against mine as lips found my neck. I cracked an eye open and saw that it was almost 4 in the morning.

"Please tell me you're not just getting to bed."

"You missed a hell of a night," he said hotly against my ear. "Radar will never be the same man again."

"What did you do to him?"

"Not as much as we planned," he said, kissing his way to my lips. His hand slid under the sheet and grasped me through my pajama pants.

"Hawkeye," I protested weakly, "it's 4am."

"That's never stopped anyone." He said, stroking me.

I sighed, more in pleasure than frustration, and kicked the covers off of me as I reached for him. We fumbled to get our clothes off before Hawkeye moved down between my legs and took me into his mouth. I groaned and sighed and panted as he pleasured me, nearly sobbing in protest as he brought me to the edge and stopped. He waited just long enough for my orgasm to recede before he sucked his fingers and thrust them into me. By the time he finally penetrated me, I was desperate to feel him inside of me, and our lovemaking was ripe with a passionate need.

The ceremony that afternoon went off as planned and I couldn't have been more proud to officiate a wedding. The love Radar and Kristina shared was so pure and so strong that I knew that God had blessed them and had meant for them to find one another. It made me wonder, as I watched them during the reception, why God had meant for Hawkeye and me to meet. I knew there must have been a purpose beyond our affections, beyond his skills and knowledge to save my life, beyond mere friendship…but what that purpose was escaped me.

Departing Vegas was bittersweet. Saying goodbye to old friends once again was painful and sad, as I knew deep down that I would never see any of them again. I counted myself lucky that I had been given this chance to see them all now. Pancho took Horsey's 747 back to Rome to inform the Pope that I would be undergoing a minor procedure in Maine, and I traveled to Crabapple Cove with Hawkeye, Mary, Trapper and Lucinda.

They wasted no time in getting me to the clinic and getting a fresh set of x-rays done so that they could verify the bronchopleural fistula. Hawkeye and Trapper both agreed that I should stay awake for the procedure, as putting me under might prove fatal, so I was given just a local anesthesia that would put me in a state of what Hawkeye called "Twilight Sedation," which made me feel like I was floating in space. I was awake, but tired as hell while they feed a tube down into wherever the fistula was and began to siphon in a chemical that Hawkeye told me would act like glue and seal off the leak. I didn't remember too much about the procedure, but apparently I had fallen asleep at some point, because I found myself waking up in a private room with Hawkeye at my side, and an oxygen mask over my face.

"How do you feel?"

"Okay…" I said, my voice slightly more raspy than normal. I touched my throat involuntarily and saw Hawkeye smile softly and reach for my hand.

"Your vocal chords are just a bit irritated from the tube we had down your throat. You'll be fine."

"And the mask?"

"Just a little help on getting some extra oxygen into you. You should be feeling better in a couple of days now that we've fixed the fistula. Trapper and I also have a plan to treat the high blood pressure, arrhythmia, and fluid on your lung. I don't trust those quacks in Rome to take care of you."

"How?"

"A diuretic." He said. "It's like a water pill, it'll flush all the extra fluids out of your body, and help lower your blood pressure, which should help the tachycardia. I think you should also do a little oxygen therapy on a daily basis just until everything evens out."

"You and Trapper came up with this in the span of a few hours?"

"We've been putting our heads together since we figured out what the main problem was. We had a plan before we left Vegas, baby. It was a simple solution really."

"And this will cure me?"

"Dago, there's no cure for what you have." He said carefully. "You'll need treatment for the rest of your life; need to take medication every day."

I sighed softly. I supposed, in the grand scheme of things, taking a few pills every day and using an oxygen mask from time to time wasn't so bad. "Thank you, Hawkeye."

"You don't need to thank me, baby. I'm just glad we caught it."

"If it was so simple, why do you think the cardiologist didn't catch it?"

"Probably wasn't looking for it. Sometimes doctors can overlook the obvious. Either way though, I'd like you to consult with me from now on about anything they say or any treatment options they offer. I'm still your doctor, you know."

Hawkeye released me from the hospital the next morning and took me home to Crabapple Cove. It had grown ever-so-slightly since the last time I'd been here, but it was still a small rural community on the coast of Maine. His was still the only house on Pierce road, but as I looked across the water, the old fishing boat was no longer anchored in the channel.

"Who lives in your father's house now?" I asked as we rolled up the drive.

"My brother and his wife," Hawkeye said. "Dad left the property to all of us and they all fought over the house and the fishing boat. It was finally decided that the brother who could stay out of jail the longest would get the house. I suppose it was incentive for them all to try and clean up their lives, but it didn't last too long for most of them."

As we went inside, there was a blonde-haired teenager stretched out on the couch, with his foot dangling over the back. Hawkeye yanked on the boy's big toe. "Sit up, will'ya, we've got company."

The boy rolled up into a sitting position and looked over at me. He had the same facial features as his father, the same piercing blue eyes, the same shaggy hairstyle sported by Hawkeye. "Hi, you must be Dad's friend… Dago, right?"

I reached for the boy's hand, shaking it firmly. "You must be Johnny."

"Why don't you take his bag and put it in the guest room?" Hawkeye said, mussing Johnny's hair before he looked at me. "You sit down and rest."

"I've been resting since yesterday," I protested.

"Rest some more." He ordered, pointing to the couch.

We spent the day just sitting around, watching television and chit-chatting about nothing in particular. Mary arrived at the house later that afternoon, having been out shopping most of the day, and set about making dinner.

I loved watching Hawkeye interact with his teenage son. Charlie and Tommy had still been quiet young when I'd last been here, but I could tell that Hawkeye truly loved being a father to all his children. He'd been good with the younger ones and he was good with Johnny. It made me think about my brother, Michael and my nephews. I was sad to have missed out on so much of their lives, sad to have never been the good uncle I could have been if Michael hadn't disowned me. I wondered how he might feel if I tried to reconnect with him again, and endeavored to try and call him once I returned to Rome.

I only stayed for a few days to give my lung a chance to heal and the "glue" to seal the fistula, and though Hawkeye and I never truly got much time alone during my short stay in the Cove, I still enjoyed being near him, and I knew I'd see him again soon. We'd finally decided to visit Paris for a week in early October. I was glad that he let me talk him out of postponing the trip.

As he drove me to the airport, where Horsey had graciously arranged for my return flight home, Hawkeye seemed unusually quiet.

"Hawk?" I ventured. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah…" he said with a sigh. "I just wish you weren't leaving. I really wish I could talk you into moving here…if for nothing else so that I could keep an eye on you."

"I'll be fine," I tried to reassure him. "I've got the file you wrote up for my doctor in Rome, and I'll be sure to consult with you about everything...I wish I could stay longer, but I really can't."

"I know. Feels like we hardly even saw each other the whole time we were in Vegas, and I couldn't do much of anything with you at the house."

"It's okay, Hawk. Just spending time with you is nice. I know Las Vegas was a whirlwind, but we managed to get a little time alone."

He smiled softly at me. "You're rubbing off on me, Dago. Usually you're the one who is always so down about having to say goodbye."

"Oh, I am…I wish I could find a way to make it so that we never had to say goodbye, but October isn't too far away, right?"

"Right. It'll be here before you know it."

Hawkeye kissed me goodbye, hugging me tightly for a long minute as he made me promise to take care of myself. I found myself suddenly not wanting to let go and felt my eyes sting sharply with tears. "I love you, Hawk."

"I love you, too." He said fiercely. We kissed once more before finally releasing one another. I reached up and touched Hawkeye's face, smiling softly at him before I turned and headed up the stairs of the jet. I turned at the top and waved, then went inside. I didn't feel much like assisting the pilot this go round, so I simply sat near the window. Hawkeye was still standing out there, hands in his pockets as he watched the jet get ready for takeoff. I started to miss him before we were even in the air.

Pancho picked me up from the airport and took me home, filling me on what I'd missed the last couple of days and letting me know that the Pope had sent his wishes and prayers for a speedy recovery.

"Thank you for taking care of things, Pancho."

"Of course, Father. It is no trouble."

I saw my cardiologist a few days after my return, who had come up with a similar plan of treatment over the course of my absence. He said that once the medication started to normalize my system that he wanted to reevaluate the blood volume in my heart to determine if further action should be taken. He hoped that the help of medication and controlled blood pressure and heart rate would take care of things naturally, but if not he had a few options up his sleeve. I felt good knowing that I was—with any luck—finally on the road to recovery from my surgery earlier that year.

I jumped back into work with renewed hope. I felt like God was granting me so many extensions in my life for a reason and I desperately wanted to figure out what purpose He wanted me to fulfill. I theorized about the possibilities with Pancho as we sat around my apartment after work in the evenings. I wondered if there was work I had yet to do for the church, if I had unfinished business somewhere… It seemed as though it could be any number of things, but there were two things that felt like they topped the list, to me: Michael and Hawkeye.

I decided that there was no time like the present if I was going to try and reconnect with my brother, so I waited until I was alone one evening before I called up my mother in California to find out where I might reach him. I spent some time on the phone with her, asking how she was and listening to her tell me what she'd been up to. I also told her about everything that had recently happened to me…much to her shock and sadness. I promised her to call more often, then hung up and took a breath to calm my nerves.

It had been so long since I'd spoken to Michael…would he even talk to me now? I picked up the phone and dialed.

"Hello?" A woman's voice answered.

"May I speak with Michael please?"

"Who's calling?"

"John…his brother." I said belated.

"John?" The woman asked as if she had misheard me. There was a strange pause. "Of course…one moment."

It took nearly a full minute before I heard my brother's voice come on the line. "Hello?"

"Michael, it's John."

"Yeah?" He said gruffly. This didn't bode well.

"I know it's been a long time, but I…I thought maybe we could…talk?"

"I've got nothing to say to you, you little faggot."

"I don't care what you think of me, Michael, but I'm still your brother."

"I don't have a brother."

I heard the distinct sound of the phone being hung up, and closed my eyes against a swell of tears as I laid the receiver back in the cradle. Part of me felt stupid for even trying to reach out to him, having known he would thrash me with my own olive branch, but the other part of me wasn't finished yet. If he wouldn't talk to me on the phone, then at least maybe he'd listen to what I had to say in a letter.

_My Dear Brother,_

_I know that I have disappointed you to the point of disownment, but please…hear me out. I feel as though I have such little time left to do all the things I must. Reconciling with you shouldn't have waited this long. You are my brother and I love you so much._

_There are things in my life that I am not proud of; dark secrets that I have kept locked inside of me. Danny, the young boy who had written to me so many years ago, is the darkest secret of my life. I have only ever told the story of him to one other person, to a man I have loved for more than twenty years. I'd like to share that secret with you…to help you understand that part of my life._

I wrote the story of my life with Danny as it had been in seminary—including how he had molested me, but how I had never done anything to stop him. I knew Michael would probably be disgusted by such details, but I felt it important to say. I told him about our argument before I left for Tibet, and how eventually he started to write to me again. I told him about Tibet, about the prison and the torture, the nightmares and how I'd ended up going to chaplain school. I told him everything—Danny's violence, going to Korea, meeting Hawkeye, falling in love, Danny's death, my fight with Hawkeye, the mission to Nepal, moving to Rome and becoming an archbishop. I told him about learning I had lung cancer, and how several people had covertly worked to reunite Hawkeye and me in hopes that he could convince me to have the surgery. I told him everything up to his hanging up on me moments before I'd started writing this letter, and by the time I'd finished, the letter spanned the length of several pages.

_I have so many regrets in my life, Michael, but I know that God forgives all of my transgressions. It has taken me a lifetime to fully comprehend that His love knows no bounds. I won't ask for your forgiveness, because I feel that I owe you no apologies outside of my delay in reaching out to you, but I do ask for your acceptance and the acknowledgement that I am **still** your brother. Maybe I am a disappointment to you, maybe you consider me a disgrace to the family and to my profession, but I am family and that bond can't be undone by anyone…not even God._

_It is your choice, of course, but I pray that you consider my words with an open heart and an open mind._

_God Bless you, Michael._

_John_

As I sealed the letter in an envelope, I quietly wondered whether or not I'd ever hear from my brother…or if he'd even read the letter. I knew that it was in God's hands from here, but I felt good for reaching out despite the continued rejection.

I was still left wondering about where Hawkeye fit into my purpose on Earth. Were we truly just destined to be lovers and friends? It felt like there was something more. He had been such an integral part of my life and had such a powerful influence on my thoughts and beliefs and views of the world…what was I meant to do for him?

The thought kept me awake at night, nagging at the back of my mind until I felt like the answer had finally come to me. Whether it had been a dream or a message from God, I sat up in bed one night and turned on the lamp, pulling out the drawer in the nightstand and finding the pen and journal I always kept there. I tore out several pages that I had written random things on and stuffed them back in the drawer, then began to write what I'd seen and felt in the dream and what I believed it to mean.

As the weeks ticked by through September, I tried to work ahead on any church business that might come up during my trip to Paris with Hawkeye. I was greatly looking forward to getting away with him again, and planned on sharing my vision—as I'd come to call it—with him. Hawkeye dutifully called me at least once a week to check up on me, and though my blood pressure was still high, it was gradually getting lower.

"I think you'll really love Paris," he told me as we spoke late one night. "Granted, when I was there with Trap we didn't go to the places I plan to take you, but it's really just a neat place to see."

"I can't wait," I smiled into the phone. "I've been speaking nothing but French to Pancho, much to his irritation."

Hawkeye laughed. "Does he even speak French?"

"He's learning to." I laughed along with him.

"Well, by this time next week you'll be up to your ears in all things French."

"I hope to be up to other things too," I said, hinting at my desire to be with him again.

"Baby, I can guarantee it." I could hear the arousal evident in his voice and it sent a shiver down my spine.

I licked my lips, my throat suddenly dry from the anticipation of it all, "I can't wait for that either."

"I'll see you soon, Dago," he said lovingly.

"I love you, Hawkeye."

"Love you, too, babe."

I hung up the phone and got ready for bed, fully content for once in my life. I missed Hawkeye, but we were making this work. It was enough to know that he loved and cared for me, that he thought about me often enough call internationally just to see how I was doing. It would sustain me to see him whenever I could. It wasn't perfect, but it was more than I should have ever hoped for to begin with.

I found my mind starting to wander over the next couple of days, but not to any particular thoughts. It was almost as if I kept blanking out, my brain just switching on and off. I had started to chalk it up to being far too eager to see my lover again, but other strange symptoms began to manifest. A dull headache had formed in my temple and refused to go away no matter what I did. It seemed to be constant, whether I was awake or asleep, and it was making me irritable. My neck felt stiff, my eyes hurt…this was not a good time to get a head cold.

As I was speaking on the phone to one of my bishops in China, my dull headache suddenly started to pound against my skull. It was a blinding pain, almost worse than a migraine. I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to find at least one pressure point that would take some of the edge off, but it didn't seem to help. I knew the bishop was speaking to me, but I was having trouble concentrating on what he was saying.

"Could you repeat that? I'm sorry…" I said with an embarrassed laugh.

"Sir? Are you alright?"

I certainly didn't feel alright. I needed to go home and go to bed; I needed some aspirin; I needed Hawkeye to work his magic and make me better. I'd have to settle for my assistant. "Pancho…"

The pain intensified even more, bringing with it a wave of dizziness. I felt like I was going to be sick.

"Pancho!" I was trying to stand up, but my body was simply not cooperating with me. My knees buckled and I dropped the phone.

"Father!" Pancho's voice cried out. The room was spinning around me and I didn't know which end was up or which was down, but I suddenly knew I was falling either way. Rather than hitting the hard floor though, I felt myself being caught and slowly lowered to the ground. Pancho was saying something but I couldn't understand the words.

"Hawkeye…" I found myself slurring. Where was Hawkeye? I needed him. I was terrified and confused. Pancho leaned over me, speaking into the phone. Was that Hawkeye he was talking to? I started to reach for the receiver in his hand, but I could barely lift my arm. Pancho laid his hand on my shoulder to keep me still. My vision was starting to blur at the edges. The last thing I saw was Pancho's panic-stricken face hovering over mine as he begged me to stay awake…and then there was nothing.

TBC


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye's POV.
> 
> The final installment. Please ignore any typos. I don't always catch them all. Also, I have no personal knowledge of medical conditions or treatment beyond what I read on WebMD and other various medical sites. Please take all procedures, conditions, and treatments with a grain of salt. Thanks for reading. Enjoy

I had just finished another successfully routine surgery and was headed into the scrub room, when I saw Trapper standing there with a disturbing look on his face. I pulled down my face mask and cocked my head at him curiously.

"What's the matter with you?"

"Hawk…I think you should sit down."

"Why?" I asked, going over to the sink to wash my hands. "Don't tell me someone else we know is getting married."

"You really should sit down," Trapper repeated. The seriousness in his voice made my stomach knot and I turned my head to look at him as I shut the water off.

"What's happened?"

"About 45 minutes ago, Pancho called for you. Since you were in surgery, he asked for me." Trapper closed his eyes and sighed before looking at me. "Dago's in surgery right now. Earlier today he had stroke brought on by a cerebral aneurysm."

I suddenly wished I'd sat down, and I gripped the edge of the sink to keep myself upright. "What? Why the fuck didn't you come get me 45 minutes ago!"

"You were in surgery, _Doctor_." Trapper argued.

"Jesus….fuck…." I swore, unable to think. "I have to get there… I have to go."

"I already called the airline for you," Trapper said. "Your plane leaves in an hour."

Mary tearfully met me at the airport with a suitcase of clothes and toiletries that she had packed. I didn't want to see her cry because that meant that she had given up on Dago pulling through this. "Stop that…" I told her as I hugged her goodbye.

"Oh, Hawkeye…" she sniffled, unable to stop herself.

I pulled away, feeling my own eyes welling up, and got on the plane.

The flight felt like it lasted an eternity and I didn't even have the luxury of getting up and pacing the aisle to worry away the time. I was trapped in the middle seat between a rather rotund fellow and a portly older woman, while my thoughts poured over Dago.

How could this have happened? We'd been so careful in planning his treatment. Trapper and I had been certain this would work, but if Trapper had been right about Dago living with hypertension for so many years, then everything we'd done—the pneumonectomy, the repair of the fistula, the treatment option for the HBP and tachycardia—had all been in vain. No matter which way you looked at it, God had meant for Dago to meet his end. Be it the cancer, a heart attack, or a stroke, death had been stalking him.

I fisted my hands in anger, wishing I could scream in rage. Why the _fuck_ did God do this to people? I knew if he took Dago from me now, that that would be it; I would hate God until the day I died. If by some chance I managed to go Heaven, I would get my revenge on the Almighty. He wouldn't get away with this.

The plane finally landed and I caught a cab to the hospital. Dago's affiliation to the Church made him a VIP, which meant that you had to have clearance to get any information on him. I fought with the nurse at the registration desk for nearly five minutes before she finally agreed to call upstairs. She grudgingly gave me clearance to go to the sixth floor where I was met in the waiting room by Pancho.

"He is out of surgery," Pancho said, though his tone did not propose good news. "The aneurysm ruptured and was bleeding into his brain. The doctors have done everything they could to repair the damage, however…"

"He's not going to make it." A ruptured aneurysm hardly ever had a positive outlook. I felt like my world had just been destroyed as Pancho looked at the floor and shook his head.

"They do not know."

"Is he conscious?"

"No."

"Can I see him?" I was barely able to speak as I neared my impending breakdown. I followed Pancho down the hall to a private room with a window. I hesitated at the door, afraid to cross the threshold. Pancho moved forward without me, over to the bed that was half-hidden by a privacy curtain. I heard him murmuring to Dago, though no response came. Finally, after several deep breaths, I entered the room and approached the bed.

Dago's head was bandaged with gauze from the tips of his ears and all the way around the top of his head with a small drainage tube running down from the surgical site to a collection bottle attached to the side of the bed. His arms and chest were riddled with wires and tubes that led to various machines, and there was an oxygen tube fed up one of his nostrils. My first instinct was to assess the situation as a doctor. He wasn't on a respirator, which meant that he still had enough brain function to breathe on his own. I tried to view that as a positive, but it wasn't helping much. This was Dago, my Dago, lying in this bed, barely holding on to life.

My vision blurred with tears as I stepped up next to him and took his hand. It was cold.

The dam burst on my emotions and I broke down. Pancho pulled a chair up behind me and I fell into it as he left the room, closing the door behind him. I felt lost, helpless, heartbroken, angry… and responsible. I couldn't have known that Dago would have a stroke, no one could have known for sure, but maybe if I'd been with him I could have seen the warning signs and gotten him to the hospital before the aneurysm ruptured. I had just talked to him less than a week ago… he'd been fine, he'd been so excited about going to Paris.

A fresh wave of tears washed over me as I experienced the sadness that we would never see Paris together; or anywhere else for that matter. He'd wanted to see the northern lights; he'd wanted to go so many places, do so many things, but the likelihood that he would was nil.

The thought of losing Dago was so agonizing that I couldn't bear to experience it yet. I had to hope that his God would grant him a miracle. I almost laughed at the bitter irony that Dago Red—the miracle worker of the 4077th, the man who we'd always called on for a little bit of Cross Action—now needed a little cross action of his own.

I don't know when I finally stopped crying, but I found myself sitting next to Dago, my chin resting on the rail of the bed as I stroked his hand in mine and spoke to him. I didn't know whether or not he could hear me, but I didn't care.

"You've really got yourself in a fix this time, Dago. I'm starting to think you might be addicted to surgery. I guess I'm to blame for that since I was the one who did your first procedure back in Korea. Maybe I shouldn't have done such a bang-up job, what do you think?"

The beep of the heart monitor was my only answer.

"Do you remember when I first got to Korea…one of the first few interactions we had was when I'd lost my first patient there. You were doing your job, just trying to help by seeing if there was anything you could do for me, and I was such an ass to you. You didn't give up though; you just came right back over to the Swamp with a bottle of scotch and got drunk with me and Trap. I liked you then and there. Anyone who wasn't too good to have a drink was alright in my book. You always knew just what we needed, even when we didn't know ourselves. I remember after that, when shit got to be too much, Trap and I would come to your tent and you'd pull a bottle from your little stash and we'd pass it around. I know we were still pretty horrible to you, what with all the stupid pranks we pulled…but I always liked you, Dago…always. Maybe that's why it was so easy to fall in love with you. God, I even remember the first day Duke and I pulled into camp. We went straight to the mess tent to flirt with Lt. Dish. You couldn't have been more than six feet away from me, sitting just down the bench from Duke. I remember you were reading that little book of yours, probably off in your own little world. You had that rosary all tangled around your hand and when Henry asked you to come over and meet us, you completely forgot it was there and had to untangle it before I could even shake your hand. Why do I remember that, Dago? Did I like you then and not even realize it yet? I'd give anything to do all again, to live each moment of everyday just one more time."

I closed my eyes against a fresh set of tears, letting them silently leak out.

"John loved you very much," Pancho's voice said quietly. I hadn't even realized he'd come back in the room. I wondered how much he'd just heard. He sat down on the other side of the bed and looked at Dago for a long moment before he spoke again. "He first told me about you many years ago. He was very lonely without you, very unhappy. He would tell me all the stories of the 4077th—I think talking about you to someone helped him through the sadness that you were not there with him, it helped him to not miss you so much, though I know he still did. I wish that perhaps I had told him he should write to you, but it was not my place then to say such things. When I did suggest he contact you, he told me that it was too late. Too much time had passed."

"He was too afraid that I would tell him to fuck off. I was such an idiot to tell him I resented him back then. Why can't I just take it all back?" The image of Dago's devastated look filtered into my mind as I remembered that fateful day and I started to cry again in anguish. "I want him back! Just for a minute…just let me look in his eyes… let me tell him I love him… let me see his smile. PLEASE! Just…let me say goodbye…"

I felt miserable, wretched, completely devastated. Pancho and I lapsed into silence, and I continued to hold Dago's hand, stroking it gently as I studied his face. He seemed completely relaxed, almost as if he was just sleeping soundly, and I felt a small bit of relief that perhaps he wasn't feeling any pain.

"How did it happen?" I finally asked, wanting to know where Dago had been when the stroke had happened and how long it had taken for him to get help.

"It happened so quickly," Pancho said. "He'd been complaining of a slight headache for a few days, and thought maybe he was coming down with something. I was at my desk and he was on the phone with one of his bishops discussing church matters. He called for me, but by the time I got from my desk to his office door, I knew something was very wrong. He was trying to stand up, and he dropped the phone. He was very, very pale. I was trying to get to him as quickly as I could, and he started to collapse. I managed to catch him and get him on the floor before I called for help."

I closed my eyes, imagining the scene in my head. He hadn't mentioned any headaches to me. I wondered if they'd come on afterwards. I wished he would have called and mentioned it. Would I have known? Would I have blown it off as nothing, like he seemed to have? No one ever gave much thought to the origin of a headache, or worried that it was the sign of a major condition. Headaches were common; he'd had no reason to think this one wasn't.

"He asked for you." Pancho's voice quietly cut in.

I opened my eyes and looked at him.

"Just before he lost consciousness, he said your name."

My eyes watered again. I had been his last thought. It was both traumatizing and comforting to hear that Dago had the presence of mind to think of me, to ask for me, to want for me at such a time. I wished with all my might that I had been there with him.

"I am going to go home for a while and try to get a bit of sleep. In the morning, I will go to his apartment and pick up a few things that might bring him some comfort," Pancho said with a sigh. "Would you care to accompany me?"

I shook my head, "I'm not leaving this hospital. I'm not leaving this bedside."

Pancho nodded in understanding, asked if he could bring me anything, then left.

By the time Pancho returned, I had somehow managed to fall asleep with my head resting on the mattress next to Dago's hand. Pancho gently shook my shoulder to wake me and passed me a cup of coffee.

"What time is it?" I asked, looking at my watch. I hadn't reset it to Rome's time, but it showed that it was the middle of the night in Maine.

"Almost six in the morning." Pancho said. "How is he doing?"

"The nurses came by to check on him several times last night, but there's been no change." I sighed and sipped the coffee. "Did you find anything at Dago's?"

Pancho held up a finger as he set his own coffee aside and reached for a bag containing a few items. He pulled out Dago's Bible and set it on a rolling table next to him. Next, he pulled out Dago's rosary beads and held them for a long moment before he handed them to me. Dago had carried this same strand of beads as long as I'd know him. I wondered exactly how old they were. The beads were heavily worn, but still had a polished look to them. I picked up Dago's hand and carefully looped the rosary around it, the way I'd seen him do so many times before. Pancho hesitated for another moment before he pulled one more item from the bag. A standard notebook.

"This was on his bedside table," Pancho told me. "Under his Bible. I wouldn't have even looked at it, but something told me I should." He held the notebook out to me and I took it. "I think you should read it."

I turned to the first page of the notebook and looked at Dago's neat handwriting that filled the page.

_For a while now I have been beleaguered with the thought that there must be more to my relationship with Hawkeye than meets the eye. More than the physical connection, more than friendship and affection we share, more than him coming to my rescue and saving my life on so many occasions. With all that he has done for me, I have wondered if there was something I was meant to do for him; some task that God has for me to do before I die._

_Tonight, be it a dream or a message from the Lord, I visited Heaven with Hawkeye by my side. As we walked side by side down a magnificent, celestial hallway towards the Almighty, our arrival was heralded by the trumpets of angels. On either side of us a sea of people had gathered, looking on reverently as we approached the Heavenly throne. I could feel nothing by happiness, awe, and wonderment for being in the presence of my Father; I felt joy and pride for Hawkeye. We bowed together at the feet of our Creator and I could feel the hand of God upon the crown of my head. I looked to Hawkeye to see that God was touching him as well. There were tears upon Hawkeye's face, but as he looked at me, he smiled brightly._

_I cannot describe the emotion this dream has stirred within me; the thoughts and wonders of the meaning behind it. I have known Hawkeye so intimately for so long, but when it comes to matters of faith, I fear that I am still at a loss for his beliefs. When I first met Hawkeye, he righteously called himself a non-believer. He knew religion, but he would avow that he did not believe in God. He never called himself an atheist, which had always plagued me with curiosity—why would a man so devoted to denying the existence of God not claim to be an atheist? It was not until later that I realized what non-believing meant to Hawkeye. Hawkeye never doubted the existence of God, but he didn't believe in Him. He had lost his faith, his trust in God, when he lost his mother at such a young age. I have seen firsthand the impact that loss still has on him—the anger, despair, and devastation. He blames God for her death with complete indignation. He holds God personally responsible for not granting her health and sustaining her life. He bears a grudge, and believes that God has turned His back on him. He feels that God is not fair and just._

_Hawkeye's is not the first case of injustice I've heard, or of anger towards God over an uncontrollable event, but his has affected me the most. I remember trying to explain to him that God **had** saved his mother, just not in the manner that Hawkeye had been hoping for. He had ended her suffering and pain. Whether or not Hawkeye ever accepted this, I am not certain, but over the years he and I have had more God-related talks than I have with anyone. I'm always surprised, and pleased, when Hawkeye asks about my faith, but also unsure. I never want to press upon him too much, I never want him to feel like I am forcing my beliefs onto him. He has mentioned before that he wishes he had faith like I do, but that he doesn't think he ever will. I remember wanting so badly to **give** him my faith, if but for a second, just so he could feel the love of God like I do. I have always prayed that Hawkeye might **feel** God's presence in his life, might be comforted by it, but Hawkeye is a raging sea in a hurricane, and faith is but a tiny boat that I am standing in amidst the chaos._

_Not so long ago, I asked Hawkeye about how his beliefs had changed…or rather, **if** they had, and was saddened to find that he still lacked any faith whatsoever. I know that God is watching over Hawkeye, standing beside him each and every day…I just wish that Hawkeye knew it too. _

_Now, in the wake of my dream, I'm still left wondering what it is I'm supposed to do. Am I meant to somehow restore Hawkeye's faith? Will it be me that leads him into the Kingdom of Heaven? Have I had any influence on his beliefs at all? I selfishly want Hawkeye to find his faith, but not so I can boast about being the one who brought him back to God… When I die…when we both die…I want to go to Heaven knowing I will see him again. I want to know that he will share eternity with me. Twenty years without him is nothing to what eternity will be like._

_I don't know how Hawkeye will react if I tell him about my dream, but I want to share it with him. I want him to share in my awe and wonder and love for God. I'd give anything for him to **believe** again, to accept that all things—the good and the bad—happen for a reason (even though I do hate saying that). _

_Maybe my purpose isn't **making** him believe, but letting him see and share in my faith. _

I ran my hand down the length of the page as I finished reading his thoughts, feeling the depression in the paper caused by the pressure of the pen as he'd inked in the words. I didn't know what to think or how to feel about what he'd written, but I couldn't help but wonder about what would happen if Dago was right…

What if I didn't go to Heaven and had to spend all eternity away from Dago, away from Mary and my children, away from my mother and father and other loved ones who had passed before me. There would be no escape, no second chance. I couldn't even begin to fathom how long an eternity might be—surely it had to have an end at some point, right? Even if eternity only lasted the span of several lifetimes, that was a very long time in my eyes. It would be torture. It would be madness. It would be Hell.

I took Dago's hand again as I closed my eyes. What did he expect me to do with this revelation of his? What did he want? I knew he wanted me to believe in God again, but how—no, why should I? My mother had been religious, just like Dago. She had gotten sick, just like Dago, and God had taken her from me, just like Dago. God had only ever been cruel in my experience; how could Dago expect me to believe that He could be good?

"So you read this?" I asked.

Pancho nodded, somewhat guiltily. "I should not have, but I checked to see if it was something he might wish to have here and saw your name. I thought perhaps…"

I sighed softly, shaking my head. "Dago's right, I do wish that I had his faith and belief in God, but I just don't. God has only ever taken things from me, brought me suffering and pain. And Dago wants me to believe there's a reason for it? That God is wonderful and loving and whatever else? How am I supposed to just accept that God didn't save my mother? Or that he would do this to Dago—to a man who has devoted his entire life to serving the very God that fucked him over! It's—it's…insane!"

"I think, if I may, that you do not understand the meaning of faith."

I looked at Pancho, surprised by that assertion.

"Believing in God and having faith are two very different things. Faith is not simply agreeing that there is a God. Nor does having faith mean that God will do what we ask of Him. Faith means trusting in God absolutely and wholeheartedly. Like John believes, everything happens for a reason. He believes that all things in life have a purpose for happening—illness, death, good things, bad things, all things—and that purpose may only be known by God. John has faith in God's plan. He trusts that God knows what He is doing. Faith is trusting in that which we cannot see, that which we do not know, and that which we do not understand."

"Then I guess I don't know how to have that kind of faith. How am I supposed to have faith that there's a purpose for this?" I gestured to Dago's prone and unconscious form.

Pancho regarded me for a very long minute without speaking, then picked up Dago's Bible, flipping through it rapidly until he found what he was looking for, then handed it to me. He stood, briefly touched Dago's other hand, and left without saying another word. I looked down at the Bible in my hands, opened to the book of Job.

I looked at Dago's face, oblivious to the conversation that had just taken place. "He's not serious, is he?"

Dago's written words in his notebook surfaced in my mind, filling me with a sense of guilt.

"Alright…" I sighed. "I'll try."

I read the story of Job—all 42 chapters of it—annoyed for most of it by the repetition and long-windedness. Why didn't the storytellers of the Bible ever just get to the damn point? But by the end, when Job was facing God, I suddenly felt very, very small. Each of us was but a mere speck of microscopic dust when compared against the vastness of the universe. How could any of us understand the intricacies of all of it? We couldn't see beyond the scope of the here and now, beyond the relativeness of our own pathetic little lives...Maybe God did have a reason for all of this, but I still couldn't understand why. Then again, that was the point, wasn't it? I wasn't supposed to understand. I wasn't supposed to know. I was simply supposed to accept what was and trust in God the way that Dago did. Fine…but how?

I started turning through the subsequent pages that followed the book of Job, reading over some of the Psalms. Dago had marked Psalm 27 with an asterisk. I found myself ruefully wondering if he was supposed to be writing in his Bible as I read the passage, trying to glean the same meaning from it that he did.

It actually seemed to be the perfect passage for him. I envisioned that the wicked enemies and armies that were trying to devour him were all of his recent maladies. Dago had told me once that it wasn't death he feared, it was just the getting there part he was afraid of. I could understand that. No one wanted to experience pain, no one wished to suffer. I'd seen enough death and dying to know that those who were on their way out didn't seem all that thrilled about it.

I started flipping through the rest of his Bible just out of curiosity to see what other pages he might have marked as particularly important when I noticed there seemed to be something marking a specific page. I turned in the book to where the marker was and saw two photographs of me and Dago pressed between the pages. I looked at the pictures for a long moment, sadness seizing my heart once again at how beautiful and alive Dago had been. Then I looked at the page the pictures were marking. 1 Corinthians, Chapter 13. He'd quoted this to me before. I read the verses again and again, knowing that 'charity' meant love. Of all the words on the page, the last verse struck me as the most pungent: "And now abideth faith, hope, and charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity."

I marked the page with Dago's pictures and closed the book, feeling no closer to figuring how I was supposed to find faith, but knowing that I had to try…for Dago.

I needed some air… Though I was reluctant to leave Dago for even a second, he seemed to be stable enough at the moment that I felt comfortable leaving him for a few minutes. I made my way out of his room and down towards the waiting room, looking out the windows at the brightening sky, half expecting to see God staring back at me from the pink and grey clouds. I got a fresh cup of coffee, then went to the phone cubicle and had the operator place an international call to Crabapple Cove.

"Hawkeye?" Mary's voice was quiet. I realized I had probably woken her up.

"I'm sorry to call so late…I keep forgetting where I am and what time it is."

"How is he?"

"He's unconscious," I informed her. "But stable for the moment."

"Will he be alright?"

"I don't know." I sighed. "I haven't spoken to any of the doctors yet, but from what Pancho told me the aneurysm ruptured and bled into his brain. I don't know where the aneurysm was or what part of his brain has been affected yet. He's still breathing on his own, which is a good sign, but…I don't know. I just don't know."

"How are you doing?" She asked softly.

"I'm a mess," I half-laughed and half-sobbed. "Dago wants me to have faith in God, but…fuck, I don't know how to do that."

"John spoke to you?"

"No…he hasn't woken up. He had a dream, apparently, and he wrote it down in a notebook that Pancho found and showed me. I've spent the last few hours talking to Pancho about what faith is and even reading a little bit of Dago's Bible."

"I'm sure John would be very proud to know that he at least inspired some consideration of faith in the great Hawkeye Pierce."

"I'm sure he would," I agreed, remembering again the description of his dream. I talked with Mary for a while longer, then meandered around the hospital as that last verse in Corinthians kept repeating itself in the back of my mind. Why was it so damn important all of a sudden? I sighed and looked up in exasperation, my eyes falling on a sign hanging from the ceiling written in Italian and English: Cappella/Chapel.

I began to think that maybe God was trying to speak to me…or maybe it was Dago's spirit guiding me. Feeling somewhat foolish, I went into the chapel, finding myself alone in the room of pews that faced a statue of Jesus on the cross. The air felt heavy around me as I moved to sit in one of the pews, staring up into the face of Jesus. His eyes seemed to be looking back at me, boring into mine, and for a split second he almost looked like Dago.

I wasn't sure at this point if I had lost my mind and had begun to hallucinate or if there was really more here than meets the eye. Was faith being torn between skepticism and certainty, but choosing certainty? Hell if I knew, but there was only one way to find out… I slid off the pew until my knees were resting on the padded riser and I folded my hands together. The last time I had been in a church praying like this, God had taken my mother…

Pancho had already told me that having faith didn't mean we got to give orders to God, but I wasn't ordering him to help Dago…I was asking. That had to mean something, right? I was doing the best I could to believe in God and trust that there really was a purpose to all of this, but I still felt angry and resentful towards Him. Why did it have to be Dago? Why bring us together again after so many years only to rip him away again so brutally? Was God punishing me?

I could almost hear Dago's voice in my ear telling me that was not God's way. It wasn't anything I had done, he would say, it was just part of His ultimate design. But for me, believing that was like trying to swallow a flaming sword without getting burned or cutting my throat.

I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what Dago would pray for in this situation. I'd listened to him pray over so many kids in Korea…what had he said then? How did he get his cross action to work? Bits and pieces of his prayers filtered through my mind, words like mercy, protection, and healing. I decided to focus on these, but my prayer seemed more like a mantra than anything as I couldn't seem to elaborate beyond 'protect him, heal him, have mercy on him.'

The thought repeated itself over and over and over again in my mind and I felt like I was pouring my entire existence into it. This had been the way it had felt when I'd prayed for my mother too—exhausting. But gradually, I started to feel something else settling over me. It was a calmness that I had never experienced in my entire life. A peaceful, comforting feeling that made me feel that I wasn't alone and that—no matter what happened—everything would be alright. Was this God? Was this faith? My skeptical side tried to reason that I really had just exhausted my mental faculties, or that I was simply accepting Dago's fate, but I wanted to argue against my own skepticism. I wanted to believe that this was something else, and I clung to that it tightly.

When I opened my eyes, I found my cheeks wet with tears. Of course I was still deeply upset about the thought of losing Dago, but there was nothing I could do for him now. I had to trust in God. I had to believe and hope and have faith that God would hear my thoughts and prayers. I didn't dare to think of how I might feel if Dago didn't pull through this…

Pancho was in the hallway talking to another man that I was certain must be the surgeon that had operated on Dago, so I quickly sidled up beside them, eager to hear what the doctor had to say and ask some questions of my own. The doctor paused in whatever he was saying and looked at me as I approached, obviously not wishing to discuss a patient in front of a stranger.

"Dr. Coletti, this is Dr. Hawkeye Pierce. He has been a long-time friend of the Archbishop, and performed the surgery earlier this year."

"Ah ha, Dr. Pierce," the doctor shook my hand. "I just came to see how the Archbishop is doing."

"Can you tell me about the surgery, Doctor?"

"He arrived at the hospital unconscious, and unresponsive, but breathing. Monsignor de Villa described what had happened, and we ran several tests to determine the extent of the damage before surgery. The aneurysm that ruptured was a blood vessel that runs through the frontal lobe, supplying blood to areas of the brain responsible for speech and fine motor functions. We were lucky in that it was very near to the surface and required minimal invasion into the brain itself. The time between the rupture and getting him into surgery, however was enough time for there to have been a significant amount of bleeding into the area. I feel confident that the blood vessel has been repaired, but right now it is hard to say what his chances of recovery are. He is still unresponsive, but once the swelling from surgery goes down, he could wake up, but there is nothing to suggest he will wake up. I'm sure, as a doctor, you know that chances of survival and recovery are quite low."

I nodded in understanding and considered what he said very carefully. If Dago did beat the odds and survive the aneurysm, the area of the brain that it had impacted could be—and probably would be—severally impacted. He could easily become aphasic, not able to communicate through speech; he could lose control of the muscles involved in fine motor skills like eye movement, grasping, writing, fastening clothes and dexterity. Many people who suffered strokes were often totally or partially paralyzed on one side of their body. So many possibilities loomed in the air like a dark cloud, and I found myself wondering which option would be better—death or continued suffering. If Dago did survive, the chances that he would have another stroke or aneurysm had now increased significantly, and he most definitely would not survive a second time. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

"Thank you, Doctor. I would like to stay with him around the clock, if I may."

"Of course." He gave a small laugh. "It will make my job easier to have another doctor presiding over his care. If you need anything, please ask."

Pancho and I watched the other man head towards the elevator, before Pancho turned to me. "I will need to advise His Holiness in the matter…but I am not sure what I should tell him."

"What typically happens in a situation like this?"

"The College of Cardinals will probably advise His Holiness to replace John…temporarily, of course, until the situation changes."

"If Dago does survive, the chances of him being able to carry on with his duties are very slim. I don't know if you want to tell that to the Pope just yet, but I think it's safe to say that Dago's days with the Church are over."

Pancho considered this for a very long, grave moment. "I will advise His Holiness that nothing is certain as of yet."

I quietly wondered if that was faith, hope, or naivety on Pancho's part, but whatever it was, I was sharing in it. I knew Dago's chance at a full recovery was 1 in a million, but I still hoped he'd be that one. Pancho excused himself and I returned to Dago's bedside. His bandage had been changed while I was gone, as had his sheets and they had obviously bathed and shaved his face. He was still resting just as oblivious to the world around him as he had been when I'd gone on my little jaunt.

I took my seat next to him and reached for his hand, it was still cool, but it wasn't as cold as it had been yesterday. I took that as a good sign—his circulation was beginning to return to normal. I wished that we were at the Clinic so that Spearchucker could have a look at Dago and give me his opinion. He was one of the best neurosurgeons I knew, and—given the choice—I would have called him in to take care of Dago.

"You really should have taken me up on my offer to stay in Crabapple Cove, babe," I told him. "You would have had the best care anywhere. Not that I mind whatshisface… Doctor…uh…Coletti? He's seems pretty sharp and you seem to be doing okay right now, so I can't complain too much about his work."

The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the silence as I paused, looking at Dago's face for any sign of muscle weakness or drooping. There didn't appear to be any. It still seemed unfathomable to me that this was Dago in the bed. How could we possibly be old enough to be dealing with this shit? I'd buried my mother and my father. I wasn't supposed to be burying my lover as well. And what if Mary died next? Or one of the kids? I would lose my damn mind, that's what. As a doctor, death should have seemed like a very natural course in life, but I hated death. I hated everything about it. The dead could move on, ignorant to the pain they'd caused the ones left behind, but the living had to deal with loss and grief and anger and remorse. We were left pleading with that unseen force behind it all; please…take me instead. We begged for just one more day. We wondered why…why did it happen this way?

I'd never decided what was better on the ones left behind—a sudden death or a gradual one. In a sudden death, there were so many unanswered questions, there was shock of the life-ending tragedy, there was no closure. In a gradual death, every day seemed like goodbye until finally you were left looking to God and asking 'please, just take them already.' You had to watch your loved one waste away until they were simply a worn out, tired old shell of the person they'd once been. I'd experienced both in my life; neither had been easy to cope with.

And now, here I was; hating death, but torn between considering whether it would be better for Dago to pass on or better for him to survive. It seemed cruel of me to ask that he live if it meant spending the rest of his life just struggling to survive on a day to day basis, but I couldn't let him go.

"I think you were right about me, babe," I found myself saying as I stroked his hand. "I am the most selfish person there is."

Pancho came in a while later and informed me that he had spoken to the Pope, who had given his most sincere condolences and had moved Dago to the top of his prayer list.

"So has he said who he's going to get to replace Dago?"

Pancho was quiet for a long moment as he looked down at Dago almost regretfully. "Me."

"I don't think Dago would have it any other way," I finally told him.

"But I am just an assistant, what do I know about being an Archbishop?"

"And Dago was just an army chaplain and missionary, I'm willing to bet he felt pretty daunted too."

Pancho laughed sadly, obviously remembering when Dago had taken the office. "Yes, he was quite lost for a time. But I could never replace him."

"Don't think of it as replacing him," I offered. "Think of it as honoring him. I know Dago well enough to know that he would want you to be happy, he would be proud for you."

Pancho sighed and rubbed his head, "I don't know where to start."

"Just start where Dago left off."

As morning began to wear on, my stomach began to protest the lack of food it had received since yesterday. I still wanted to spend as little time away from Dago as possible just in case there was a change, so I made a quick trip down to the cafeteria for something to eat, then back up to Dago's room.

It felt like a waiting game as hours continued to tick by with no change. It was late afternoon when a male doctor entered the room and asked if it was alright if he performed a few tests on Dago.

"Knock yourself out," I told him. Intrigued, I asked, "What kinds of tests?"

"It's a relatively new technique* I read in a journal a couple of months ago. It assesses a patient's state of consciousness on a scale of 3 to 15—three being totally unresponsive, fifteen being fully alert."

I watched in fascination as the doctor observed Dago's eyes, noting they were closed, then took Dago's hand and applied a fair amount of pressure to his nail bed. The doctor was watching Dago's eyes the entire time, which didn't open. He then placed a hand against Dago's sternum and again, applied pressure with the same result. He spoke the Dago and clapped his hands, but there was still nothing to suggest Dago had heard him. After several minutes, the doctor made his notes.

"So, what's that mean? Where's he at right now?"

"A three." He told me. "Completely comatose."

I knew that after six hours of being unresponsive, a patient was classified as comatose and that typically a coma resulted from injury to the cerebral cortex—or gray matter of the brain—or the reticular activating system that maintained a person's sleep/wake cycle. In this case, I was willing to bet that it was the cerebral cortex. The surgeon had said there was minimal invasion of the brain, but he still would have gone through a bit of gray matter in order to fix the rupture. If he hadn't been careful, then Dago might never wake up again. However, once the swelling had gone down and the site was healing, then there was a good chance he would. No matter which angle I tried to look at it, Dago's chances still seemed 50/50 at this point, and I felt frustrated as hell.

I decided to make use of my time by calling up Spearchucker at the clinic and asking him if he'd ever heard about the technique the doctor used. Chuck said he remembered reading that same article, but hadn't actually had a patient to try it on.

"Comas are common in this situation, Hawkeye," Spearchucker said. "There's still a chance he could pull through. I've done a few successful repairs on aneurysms."

"Yeah, I feel optimistic," I admitted. "I mean he's breathing on his own, his heart rate and BP are normal for the most part. He's just not responding to any stimuli."

"It's only been about 24 hours. It's too soon to tell anything."

I wasn't sure if I was getting my hopes up or not, but I was glad that Spearchucker was reassuring me. I trusted his opinion, as a friend and as a neurosurgeon. "Thanks, Chucker."

Pancho said that had things he needed to do, but assured me he would come by the hospital the next day to check on Dago. It was lonely just sitting alone with Dago in his room watching him sleep, but I filled the time by reflecting on my life with him.

Korea had been so unexpected in so many ways—first getting drafted, then falling for a goddamn priest. Who had seen that coming, really? I grinned as I remembered getting him to smoke pot with us, and all the subsequent times we had gotten high. Marijuana had always mellowed him out enough that he lost that nervous edge he always seemed to have when making conversation with people. He'd always told the most interesting stories, and had always held us Swamp rats as a captivated audience. Add a little alcohol in the mix and he would drop his inhibitions almost completely. Whether or not he realized it, he would openly flirt with me in front of the others—a look, a touch, leaning against me, stealing a kiss by blowing smoke into my mouth. Those were the times when I wanted Dago the most and I couldn't wait to get back to his tent and fuck him.

Dago was one of the most exciting people I'd ever met. He was a puzzle that I'd spent 20 years collecting the pieces for, and I still felt like some were missing; the puzzle wasn't complete. When we'd been in Spain, he had said that I was special to him, and I supposed that was the only way to describe my life with him: special. Never again would I know anyone as wonderful, as kind, as generous, as warm, as intelligent, as passionate, or as unique as Dago. Never again would anyone make me feel as complete as he did…not even my wife.

The next two days showed no change in his condition. The young doctor had come by to test his consciousness every day, but Dago remained at a 3. The surgeon had come by as well, displeased that Dago was still comatose, and telling me that I should start preparing for the worst.

"He should be showing some sign of recovery by now," he told me seriously. "We have to consider the fact that he is not going to wake up, and perhaps you should begin making some preparations."

I knew what he meant. The longer Dago stayed comatose, the less likely he would come out of the state and have any chance at recovery. As long as he remained unresponsive, his body would continue to deteriorate around him—his muscles would begin to atrophy and his limbs would start to draw up and become immoveable, he would be susceptible to pneumonia or diminished lung capacity that could lead to respiratory failure, he would likely get a urinary tract infection from the catheter that might eventually lead to sepsis, and eventually his body would develop ulcers and bedsores as his skin began to breakdown. Dago would need round the clock care, and would most likely be moved into a hospice situation until his body finally decided to stop function.

I felt another surge of anger and devastation as the doctor left me, and I found myself wandering back to the chapel, walking straight to the statue of Jesus on the cross. Maybe Jesus was only the Son of God, but he would do…

"Why! Why are you doing this to him? Have you made a bet with the Devil like you did with Job! Is this a test to see if he will renounce you and curse your name! In case you haven't noticed, he's not in a condition to even be aware that he may or may not hate you for this! You've made it very clear that you intend for him to suffer whether he lives or whether he dies. If he lives, what kind of life will he have? If he's able to communicate at all, he'll be damn lucky! How do you expect him to praise your name then! If he dies, it'll be slow and horrible, and if he feels anything at all locked away inside of himself like he is, you can be damn sure he's going to suffer like hell! Do something! Answer me!"

I drove my fist into the stomach of the statue, and fell to my knees in tears of anguish. I pressed my face against the floor as I cried, weeping in sorrow for whatever Dago would endure.

Despite my fury with God, I still clung to that feeling of faith—the belief that God did have a purpose for this, but I desperately wanted to know what it was. What had Dago done that had warranted such wrath from his God? Where was God's mercy? His compassion? How did He expect people to have faith when they felt there was nothing to have faith in?

I drug myself out of the chapel, swiping a piece of gauze from the nurses' station to dab at my bleeding knuckles as I made my way back to Dago's side. I felt sick at the situation, sick at the thought of continuing to wait—wait for him to live, or wait for him to die; sick at the realization that soon the hospital would request that family or the church have Dago moved to a different care facility. I wondered if Dago's family even knew at this point. Had Pancho called them? Dago had said his mother wasn't able to travel much anymore, would she come collect him? Would his brother? Would they take him to California? And if he woke up? Where would he go then? That much, I felt I had some control over—he would come with me. I would care for him until he had either recovered or until he died. I wouldn't take no for an answer this time.

I lowered the rail on Dago's bed and rested my head against his leg. "Please wake up, Dago…please."

The next morning, Pancho dropped by, bringing me a coffee and a jam cornetto. I almost couldn't eat it as I sullenly remembered that Dago had taken me to his favorite little café that served his favorite cornettos.

"Does Dago's family know about his condition?"

"Yes," Pancho told me as he sat next to Dago and I stood next to the window.

"The doc said yesterday that we should start…making arrangements." I closed my eyes against the sting of tears. "The longer he stays out, the less likely he's going to wake up."

"I will alert his mother," Pancho said softly.

He spent a couple of hours with me, asking how I was doing and that he was praying for me. "I know this must be very difficult for you."

"Yeah" I snorted derisively. "I even punched Jesus Christ."

"Sorry?"

"The statue in the chapel here…I got so angry that I was yelling at it and, well…hit it."

Pancho looked taken aback. "I believe that is the first time I have ever heard someone say such a thing."

I couldn't help but laugh softly. "He did more damage to me that I did to him. Busted my knuckles. I just don't understand, Pancho. I don't understand why He would do this to Dago. I know, that's the purpose of faith—to not know why and just trust that God has his reasons—but it's…"

"Unjust?"

"To say the least."

"Pain," he said. "Is never permanent.* What John endures in this life will be rewarded in Heaven and there he will feel no pain, nor suffering, nor strife. There, justice will find him when he is united with our Heavenly Father."

I took a deep breath and let it out through my nose, closing my eyes. I tried to believe that with all of my heart.

I was lost deep in thought that night as I sat, yet again, at Dago's bedside, his hand in mine. I thought about Dago's dream, about us kneeling at the feet of God and the description of the emotions that had surged through him. I wished that I could feel such things as him, I wished I could feel the presence of God, I wished that I could feel His comfort. I started to think about my mother, letting myself experience the grief and anguish at her loss. I closed my eyes as I thought back to when I had been little and she had been well, when she had tucked me in at night and kissed my forehead. I could hear her voice singing softly to me the sweet lullabies that had put me to sleep at night. I could almost smell her scent… The memories were overwhelming, but they brought with them that same calm I had felt when I'd prayed that first time in the chapel. Suddenly, I felt very at peace with the loss of my mother.

Movement made me blink open my eyes. Dago's hand had twitched in mine. My heart leapt and I was on my feet in an instant, leaning over him and squeezing his hand tightly.

"Dago? Can you hear me? Squeeze my hand, baby." I waited with bated breath, but nothing happened. "Come on, John…do something, let me know you can hear me."

When he still didn't respond, I took his hand and pressed the edge of my nail under his nail bed.

Dago groaned weakly in response to the painful stimuli.

My eyes welled with tears and my throat swelled shut with emotion. "Nurse!" I croaked, squeezing Dago's hand and holding it against my chest. "Nurse!"

A nurse ran into the room as my tears started to fall. She called in a doctor working the night shift, who tried to get Dago to open his eyes, but the only thing that we were able to get from him that night were groans and very slight movement of the hand I was holding. After an hour of poking and prodding at him, we finally let him rest again and I went to call Mary with the good news.

"He's waking up," I sniffled. "He's still not out of the woods, but his moved his hand a little and was making noises."

Mary sobbed happily on the other end of the line.

Again, before returning to Dago's room, I went to the chapel and approached the statue of Jesus once again. This time I simply fell to my knees, looking up at him. "Thank you… Thank you… Thank you."

I didn't sleep that night, too eager that he would open his eyes and afraid that I would miss it if he did. I spoke to him softly as I continued stroking his hand in the same fashion I had done for nearly a week.

"I don't know, Dago… I don't know, but I think I've managed to find a little faith after all. I don't know why God put you through this shit…but I know that you would say there was a reason for all of this, and…I want to believe that, too. I've been doing the best I can to believe it. I don't agree with it, but I suppose He didn't ask for my opinion. Did you hear me tell Pancho I punched the statue of Jesus in the chapel?" I couldn't help but laugh ruefully. "I was so fucking angry with God. I dunno, maybe I just lost my mind or something. It was a dumb thing to do."

I brushed the back of his hand against my cheek and pressed a kiss against it. "I want to take care of you, Dago. I want to spend the rest of our lives together. I know it's never been a perfect option with me being married, but I want you to come live with me and Mary. We'll figure out a way to make it work, baby, and I'll take care of you. I love you, John."

Dago's fingers lightly curled around mine and I looked up to see his eyes open just enough to know that he was looking at me. There was a single tear slipping down his cheek and he slowly opened his mouth as he tried to speak. My eyes stung so fiercely it made my nostrils burn. Dago opened and closed his mouth several times making unintelligible noises. I wasn't sure if he was trying to form words and couldn't, or if he was just making sounds, but either way I didn't care... he was awake. His eyes opened just a little wider and I could see the tears shimmering in their blue depths.

"Ha…H-Ha…" He closed his mouth and his tongue slowly came out to wet his lips before he tried again. "Hawk…"

Though the word was slightly slurred, and I wasn't sure if he'd actually meant to shorten it, my name had never sounded so sweet.

I wept as I leaned down and pressed my lips gently to his. He was slow to try and purse his own lips, but I knew he was kissing me back. I pulled back to see the tears had leaked from his eyes as well and I wiped them away carefully.

"It's okay, baby. Everything's going to be okay."

His face broke out in a slightly crooked smile as he looked at me lovingly and lightly squeezed my hand. "Hawk…"

**_Fin._ **

In 1974, Graham Teasdale and Bryan J. Jennett of the University of Glascow, published an article about a new assessment they had developed that was used to objectively assess the consciousness of a person. The Glasgow Coma Scale is widely used today.

"Pain is never permanent." Is a quote from Saint Teresa of Avila.


End file.
